


When We Are Happy

by Gildedmuse



Category: Rent (2005), Rent - Larson
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gift Fic, Just Add Kittens, Kitten POV, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 09:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedmuse/pseuds/Gildedmuse
Summary: When Mimi leaves Mimoso with Roger, he ends up going far too attached much to Mark's annoyance.





	1. Feline Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> [Written in 2006 which is why.... This]

"Come on, Roger."

 

Roger turns the thing around in his hands, looking at it at a few different angles before he spoke up. "You have to be fucking insane."

 

From the look Mimi gives him, Roger's guessing she hadn't been joking at all. "It's one fucking month," She growls, crossing her arms over her chest and setting a serious look on her face. Roger stands there, staring at his ex-girlfriend and waiting for her to take the thing out of her hands and march back down to her apartment. She just keeps tapping her foot and watching Roger with a raised eyebrow. "You're telling me you can't do me one little favor."

 

"This is not a little favor," Roger counters, holding the kitten at arms length as if afraid the little ball of fluff would jump him. Roger doesn't have to take care of some stupid little kitten after Mimi broke up with him last month. Part of him wants to hope this is an elaborate plan to apologize for leaving him. First it's "take care of my cat" then it's "come over for dinner" then Mimi will say how she regrets leaving him and wants him back in her life and that whole thing about she just needed some space to sort out her life.

 

The small fluff of a cat in his hands meows, paws reaching out for Mimi's shirt. She coos at the little thing, ignoring Roger for a few beats to amuse her pet. Roger watches, feeling his heart twist slightly at the sight. He knows Mimi needs to get herself off drugs and healthy before they can try at the relationship thing, but that doesn't mean he likes being left out of her life. "I can't keep this thing for you," he says, holding the thing out and all but pressing it back into Mimi's hands.

 

"You can," Mimi replies with a bit more bite in her voice as she straightens herself out and pushes the cat back towards Roger. "You just won't." Then she returns to staring him down and waiting for him to break. "Roger, I have to do this. It's the only way..." She trails off as she chews over her lower lip until tears start spring into her eyes. Roger almost drops the kitten and scoops her into his arms, but she's already reaching out to take the kitten and walking away. "You know, I'll just-"

 

"Fine," he growls, at least trying to keep up with the act of being put out even while pulling the fluff ball of a cat back and tucking under his arm. "I'll keep it."

 

Mimi pauses, fixing Roger with a suspicious look that turns into a brilliant smile. Roger can feel his cheeks start to burn, something he tries to hide with a glowering expression and pulling back when Mimi presses a kiss to his forehead. Why does he turn into a teenage boy with a crush every time she flashes that smile? "When mommy comes back, she's going to be able to take care of you like she should."

 

"What?" He yelps, loud enough for the floors downstairs to hear, his eyes going wide at the suggestion. Okay, there was that one time with the leather and handcuffs, but that had been back when they were a couple and not standing in the middle of the hallway.

Mimi glares up at him, bending over again and scratching the kitten behind the ear. "Not you, idiot," she says around a smile as she makes some odd sounding baby noises for the cat. "I'm talking to Mimosos."

 

"How was I supposed to know that?" Roger snaps, pouting a bit at all the attention Mimi dots on the cat. He is the one sacrificing his time to take care of it, and she can't even acknowledge him before she leaves? He shakes his head to get that thought out of his mind as he waves Mimi off after taking the bag of cat related things that she shoves in his arms. He might still be upset over the break up, but that's no reason to be jealous of some puny hairball.

 

"What's so great about you anyway?" Roger asks after Mimi had gone back down to get her suitcase and head off. He holds the cat up by the scruff of its neck, looking at its big face with wide, light blue eyes. It looks back at him, ears drooping a bit and a small meow escaping as Roger hoists it up to inspect the little thing. "You're not even that cute."

 

With a mix between a sigh and a groan, he stuffs the small kitten in one of the large pockets of his leather jacket before walking back into the loft and closing the door behind him. He tosses the bag of things towards the side and heads back towards his room. He throws his jacket and the kitten onto his bed, plopping down beside it and picking his guitar back up.

 

He can't believe Mimi would do this to him. How dare she just show up at his door and ask for this favor after a month of not speaking with him? He knows she needs to get clean and her life in order, but it stills hurts, just being dumped like that. Why couldn't Roger be there to help her through this? She's managed to bruise his pride enough by ignoring his phone calls and notes taped to her door, now the only reason she wants to talk with him is to make him baby-sit her cat. Maybe he'd get lucky, and the thing would just run away.

 

"What are you doing?" Roger asks, playing some random melody as the kitten crawls out from under his jacket. He watches the little thing bounce across the bed, rubbing up against his leg before climbing up his jeans. Roger jerks back the guitar just before it can chip the paint with its claws. "Don't think writing her a song is going to make her come back and remember you," Roger chastised, holding the fender up high when the cat bats for it. "Even if she does, she'll just leave you again."

 

The cat stares up at Roger with wide blue eyes, reaching out for the guitar again before tumbling backwards off Roger's lap and onto the bed. Roger smiles, chuckling a bit as it pounces the covers that bounce under its small weight before he catches himself. He grabs the kitten in one hand, scooping it off the bed and holding it up to his face. "Don't do that!"

 

The kitten stares back, blinking a few times before it meows and bats at Roger's nose. Roger makes a face, dropping the ball of white fluff into his lap. "Okay, kid, what did Mimi call you? Misoso?" He pauses, waiting for some kind of conformation. The kitten just reaches up, starting to climb up his shirt and purring as it rubbed its head against his chest. Roger smiles, gently ruffling its fur. 

 

"Alright, no need to get frisky," he says, pushing it back until it's tumbled back to the bed. He laughs, leaning closer to the small thing. "It was a bad name, anyway. Let's see. You're pale, blue eyed, and kind of a dork." He pokes the kitten in the forehead and it goes cross-eyed trying to paw his finger before falling back again. "Let's call you Cohen." Roger chuckles at his own joke, but then the kitten stops its playing around and looks up at him with wide eyes.

 

"Cohen, it is," Roger says, scratching behind the cat's ear before it's trying to jump back up into Roger's lap.

 

*

 

Mark slides the loft door open with a groan. He's cold, tired, and all his muscles still feel like they were burning. Stupid police having nothing better to do than chase around innocent filmmakers who are not used to sprinting several city blocks in the middle of March. Stupid upper class business yuppies, too, who thought that just because they live in a building means Mark can't film in front of it. What were they hiding so desperately anyway?

 

Right now, Mark just wants to fall into a hot bath. As if they have hot water, or a bathtub. So instead he places his camera down on the counter and starts rubbing his hands up and down his arms, trying to get some heat going. He should have taken his scarf and jacket with him, but this morning hadn't seemed too bad.

 

Just as he's thinking it, Roger pads out of his room with his old plaid coat bundled in his arms. He's not really sure what Roger's doing with his jacket, but he's thankful all the same. "I was just thinking about that," he says, trying to smile as he falls back into the couch. God, his shoulders hurt so much.

 

Rocking the coat gentle in his arms, Roger looks up as if surprised to see Mark there. "Mmm?"

 

Mark points to the coat. "It got freezing out there after dark," he says, curling back up and trying to get some of the blood to flow through his ice-cold fingers. "I went to film at this one spot up on-"

 

"Oh," Roger cuts off Mark, looking back at the coat bundled in his arms. "Yeah, I guess it got kinda chilly pretty quickly."

 

Ignoring the pain and cold for a few seconds, Mark leans forward and fixes Roger with a worried look. His best friend has been sort of out of it since Mimi had left him but up until now he'd spent all his time in his room with his guitar. "Rog?" Mark asks, trying to sound as patient as possible. "Something wrong?"

 

"No," Roger answers, and he honestly sounds as if nothing is wrong. "Co- The cat was just getting cold, so I thought I'd make him a bed. He really likes your coat."

 

Mark doesn't really process this before Roger tips the bundled-up jacket in his arms just enough so that Mark can see through a small hole of wool and plaid a small, white face peeking up at him. "Roger!" He squeaks, jumping off the couch and wincing when his muscles scream at him for it. "Where did you get that?"

 

Roger frowns, and if Mark isn't just hallucinating this whole thing it looks like he blushes too as he clutches the cat close to his chest. "It's Mimi's," he explains. "She asked me to take care of it while she's away."

 

"It..." Mark stutters a bit, pointing an accusing finger at his coat, which is now being used as a pet bed. "It's a cat!"

 

Roger snorts a bit, giving Mark a look that says it all. "Good call."

 

Mark ignores his roommate's snarky comment and just keeps staring wide eyed at the little blue eyes peeking up at him. "You can't keep that thing here!" He says, voice still a little too high. "Roger, I'm allergic to cats, and you have one wrapped up in my fucking jacket! I need that jacket."

 

With a roll of his eyes, Roger says, "Mark, this thing looks like it could have been rejected from the Salvation Army. No one needs this jacket."

 

"I do!" Mark replies. He still can't believe Roger has a cat in their loft. He remembers when Cindy got a kitten for Christmas, and Mark spent the next three years with a constant dry throat and tears in his eyes. It had never even crossed his mind that Roger would bring one home with him. He just isn't the type to keep something around that requires him taking care of it. "Have you even thought about this? You have to... to feed it, to change its litter box."

 

"It's a cat, not a baby," Roger counters. "Besides, it's only why Mimi's gone. Then you'll get your coat back."

He is already pouting and this close to stomping his foot on the floor. "Roger, it's freezing out. I can't go jacket-less in the middle of March."

 

"You did today," Roger answers, holding the coat even closer until the kitten's head pops out of the folds of fabric.

 

Flushed from running from the cops and obvious losing battle he's fighting with his roommate, Mark makes a sound that is almost a whine. "I was stupid today. Now give me back my coat."

 

"Fine," Roger mutters, pulling the cat free of the jacket and tossing it at Mark, who holds it out at arm length. "I can't believe you're being such a baby about something like a cat."

 

Narrowing his eyes, Mark lays his jacket out on the table. "I told you, I'm allergic. Can't you make Maureen or Collins or someone keep it?"

 

Roger doesn't answer, already walking back to his room with the kitten on his shoulder. Mark looks from the white hairs all over his coat to Roger's retreating back, glowering at the small ball of fluff he's holding up and petting. For a split second, Mark swears the little thing actually smirks at him.

 

*

 

Eight days down, and Mark is already feeling some pent-up resentment towards the little cat Roger seems so fond of. He doesn't see what the big deal is with cats, anyway. Especially this one. It seems bratty, and kind of spoiled. Also, it leaves Mark's nose running and eyes watering up with all the fur it scatters around the loft. Mark never says anything, but he's pretty sure it's on purpose.

 

"I don't see why you're being such a fucking jerk," Roger said one morning as he watched the thing finish off the last of their milk. "You're out filming most of the time, anyway. How is he disturbing you?"

 

"Roger, it's been like I have an endless cold for almost a week now," Mark answers and promptly sniffles and coughs.

The kitten finishes their milk and Roger picks it up and holds it to his chest. "Stop being such a baby," he tells Mark as he whisks the little thing back into his room.

 

That's the worst part of this whole arrangement. Roger spends all his time with the cat and none of it with Mark. He'd even heard the musician playing one of his new songs for the thing. What happened to letting Mark be the first one to hear his new music? 

 

That's how it's been since Mark moved into the loft and suddenly he is being replaced by a fluff ball with four legs? It just isn't fair.

Of course, he had to go and tell Collins about this, and the other man had just laughed at him. "You're jealous," he accused, smiling the whole time.

 

Mark had, of course, flushed and stuttered for a while before he managed a weak sounding, "Am not."

 

"You are," Collins said, leaning back in his chair and toasting Mark a bit. "You're jealous that Roger is giving the cat is getting more attention than you." Sometimes, Mark hates when Collins is right. Not that it matters. It has to be somewhat normal to be jealous of watching your best friend ignore you for some new fascination.

 

Today, sniffing a bit as he stumbles out into the main loft, Mark plans to stay out for as long as possible. Clear his head, let Roger bore himself out with just having some cat for company. So he grabs his camera and an extra sweater (he still needs to get his jacket cleaned) and starts pulling on his shoes to head out the door.

 

He starts to pull on his shoes, but then realizes that something's wrong. Still half asleep and with his head clogged up, Mark squints his eyes and tries figuring out why this isn't working like it normally did when he put his shoe on. "Roger?" He calls, turning the worn down shoe this way and that. "Roger, where is my shoelace?"

 

Standing up, limping a bit with only one shoe on and the other in his hand, Mark heads towards Roger's room. He pushes open the door, and there is Roger lying across his bed with the shoelace dangling from his fingertips and that damn cat clawing at the end.

 

"Roger!" Both Roger and the cat look up at Mark standing in the doorway, standing unevenly and with a runny nose and slight cough. Not his best angry look. "Roger, what the hell are you doing?"

 

His roommate doesn't even try and look guilty. "He was bored," Roger says, waving the shoelace a few times. The kitten jumps for it again, biting and clawing at the poor innocent lace. "I thought he could use something other than cockroaches to chase."

Mark's face goes bright red, narrowing his eyes and he storms into Roger's room and yanks the abused lace away from him. "This is my shoelace!" He says, dangling it in front of an unconcerned Roger. "It is not a chew toy for your cat!"

 

"Calm down," Roger says, leaning down to pull the kitten up into his lap. "It's not a big deal, Mark."

 

In a huff, Mark sits down on the floor and starts trying to lace up his shoe. "It's a big deal to me," he growls, concentrating all his energy into getting the lace into the small, metal hole. Not that easy to do when his eyes felt like they were burning and he had to rub at them every few seconds. "I'm sick of my stuff smelling like cat! First my jacket and now my shoes!"

 

He's so absorbed in his shoe, Mark doesn't realize Roger has gotten up until something is being draped over his shoulders. He pauses and looks back, and there is Roger standing over him and holding the leather jacket to his shoulders. Mark just stares up into those green eyes that for once this week aren't annoyed with or laughing at him. "What?"

 

Roger shrugs. "It's cold out there, and you obviously can't wear your jacket so I figured I'd at least keep you warm.

Dropping his shoe, Mark slips the jacket on. It's warm and smells like leather and Roger. It's also huge on him and is probably covered in as much cat hair as his, but that doesn't really click with Mark. He just accepts it and pulls on his half laced up shoe before standing. "Uh, thanks," he mutters, pulling the jacket closer to him.

 

Roger smiles and pats Mark on the shoulder. "No problem," he says before walking past him and falling back onto his bed with the little cat jumping around. "Have fun filming."

 

"I will," Mark answers, walking out to get his camera and still not sure why he let himself be appeased so easily.

 

*

 

Mark really is jealous of that cat.

 

It becomes more and more clear to him every day. On the thirteenth day of sharing his apartment and Roger with the little thing, that's when it really hits him how serious this jealousy thing is.

 

A full day of filming useless things down, Mark wanders back into the loft at around nine. "Hey Rog," he calls out the second he's got the door open and bouncing inside, trying to shake the slight chill that's settled over him. Roger is sprawled out on the couch, and at first Mark thinks he's asleep. He looks it, anyway, with his eyes closed and head tipped back. The only thing that gives it away is the cat curled up against his bare chest, pushing into the hand that's petting him.

 

Mark stares for a few seconds at Roger laying there half naked, not a totally rare sight even if it's still kind of chilly outside. He watches the hand work through the cat's fur and the slow rise and fall of his chest as the kitten snuggles up to him. The first thought he manages to have about all this is, 'That should be me.'

 

Mark yelps, eyes going wide as his mind comes up with a picture of himself cuddled up against Roger, with the musician's hand stroking across his skin. Where the hell had that come from?

 

It's the girlish scream that really gets Roger's attention. "Hey," he says, opening his eyes and smiling at Mark. "You're home."

"I..." Mark must be so obvious. He can feel his cheeks burning and can't seem to stop them. "I thought you were asleep."

 

Roger chuckles a little, his body rumbling with the low sound and Mark's eyes flee to the floor. Don't stare, he tells himself. Staring will not help. "Nope, just cat napping."

 

"I'm kind of tired myself," Mark says, almost all in one breath and he is already dashing for his room. "Going to get some sleep, I think!"

 

His door slams shut and he collapses back against the bed.

 

What the hell is wrong with him? Mark tries to run through the scenario again to figure out what had happened to him back there. It's not that he never thought about guys like that before. He has even tried a few things, but he likes girls so he figured the whole guy thing had just been something he'd experiment with. He knows Roger is good looking, of course. He can tell when a guy is cute without it meaning anything, though. It's all aesthetics. Maybe this is what happens to guys who don't have sex in too long. They start imaging weird things. Sure. Between not having been with anyone since Maureen, the guy phase he'd gone through, Roger's good looks, and the whole jealousy issue with the cat, his mind is just playing tricks on him. Trying to work things out. It made so much sense.

 

Glad he had that figured out, Mark curls up to his side and closes his eyes tight. He really could use some sleep, and maybe a break from the rest of his life and his own twisted imagination. He snuggles up against his bed and the jacket he's still wearing, taking in the scent of the leather. Even after this week, it still smells like Roger, almost like his roommate is in here instead of out there with Mimi's cat. Mark pulls the jacket tighter around his small frame, and it could have so easily been Roger's arms slipping around him, and his hand sliding between Mark's legs, just as warm and strong as the leather.

 

Mark's eyes flew open, tearing the jacket off and tossing it across the room like it been on fire. Panting hard, he stares at the leather sitting over in the corner mocking him and his already confused mental state. Being jealous of losing your best friend to a pet is one thing. Mark's sure touching yourself while smelling your best friend's jacket falls into a scary stalker category all its own. It had been a slip up, Mark tells himself and he lays back and tries to relax. He's cold without the jacket and his heart's still racing, but he's willing to ignore it all. It's all the delusions of his low self-esteem over Roger not paying him any attention and his sleep and sinus addled mind. It would probably have happened, jacket or not, and whatever had caused it wouldn't happen again.

 

The next day, Mark gives Roger his jacket back and takes his own to the wash. Better safe than sorry.

  
  



	2. How To Play Nice

The best part about Roger is his hands. They're hardened and big, rough and gentle when they need to be. He chews off his nails and doesn't use bad smelling lotions like the girl did. When he pest Cohen, all he can smell is the human and there are no sharp, pointed claws digging into his skin. It's like heaven.

 

"You're like heaven," Cohen purrs, but of course Roger doesn't get him. He does scratch Cohen in exactly the right place though, and that's good enough. It's weird how Roger can be so good at petting him but can't understand anything Cohen tries to tell him. Then again, Cohen secretly believes Roger must have some cat in him. He's got eyes that look feline when he smiles, and they way he stretches out looks almost like a house cat warming in the sun. Besides, he's too cool to be entirely human.

 

Today is a lazy day. Roger hasn't even gone for his guitar yet. He's spent the entire morning laying back in his bed and staring at the ceiling. Cohen doesn't mind. He spent the night running some rats out of Roger's clothes, and he enjoys just collapsing next to his owner and letting him pet him.

 

The worst part about Roger is he's always thinking about stuff. Not good stuff, like playing with strings or jumping around on the bed. Bad stuff, like the human who had kept Cohen for a month before handing him off to Roger or that blonde thing that lives with him. Today is a blonde day, because today the thing came in and gave Roger back his leather jacket. Cohen's not sure what this means, but he can tell Roger's thinking about it.

 

He can also tell that any second now, Roger is going to start talking to him about it. He has no idea why Roger does this, since the human seems to think he can't understand him and he knows that as Roger isn't smart enough to understand him, but he does it anyone. "Something's wrong with Mark."

 

Mark is the blonde human that Cohen is named after. He doesn't see why, as him and the blonde have nothing in common except for Roger. They both like spending time with the human. Of course, Cohen usually wins and the blonde thing goes off for hours to hunt for mice or something equally not as cool as hanging out with Roger. "I mean, it's not that I care that he gave me back the jacket, but why would he just give it back like that?"

 

"You don't care so much and you've been obsessing over it," Cohen points out, lifting his head to look up at Roger. "Yeah, very convincing."

 

Roger smiles down at him and scratches behind his ear. "I know. He did look cute in it, huh?"

 

"He looked like a dog," Cohen corrects, but of course Roger can't hear him so it makes no difference. "All shaggy on the outside, but just a scrawny little scary-mouse under all his fake fur."

 

Roger goes back to staring at the ceiling for a few moments, and Cohen hopes that settles that. He doesn't want to hear more about the blonde, anyway. "Not that I think Mark is cute," Roger adds under his breath after a few moments.

 

"Yeah, right," Cohen answers, crawling up onto Roger's stomach to distract him from his thoughts. "That's why you spend half his time mooning over him. Why don't you guys just go in heat and get this obsession over with?" Since Roger can't understand the meowing, he just shakes his head and cuffs Cohen gently. "Don't swat at me," Cohen whines before trying to bat his hand away. Roger just chuckles at the effort, a low sound that rumbles through his chest and shakes Cohen up.

 

"I should talk to him," Roger says after a few beats of silence and he's gone back to petting Cohen.

 

Cohen is too content to do much more than purr, but he can't help but reply, "You should stop talking about him is what you should do."

 

"Make sure he's okay," Roger keeps mutters, totally oblivious to all the advice he's receiving. Cohen's too sleepy to argue with him and his human logic anymore. Yawning, he rolls off Roger's stomach and curls up in the mess of blankets next to him. "I don't want Mark upset with me. He gets weird when he's upset, all quiet and stuff."

 

"Mmm..." Cohen says one last time before drifting off, only half listening to Roger ramble on about his other pet.

After a few minutes, the bed beside him moves a little. Cohen opens one eye, watching Roger slide off the mattress and head out the door. Cohen yawns and curls back up in a tighter ball, still tired out from his exciting night of hunting. He'd let Roger wander away without him this once.

 

*

 

Cohen wakes up with a yawn, sniffing the covers were Roger had been. They still smell like him, of course, but slightly fainter now. He's been gone for a while. Hopping off the bed, Cohen shakes himself off and stretches a little. His stomach is growling a bit. He needs to find Roger and make him get him some food.

 

Prancing out of Roger's room, ready to be loved on, Cohen starts smelling out his human. Only there are a lot of weird scents clogging up the loft by now. He wrinkles his nose a bit as they all hit him, making him a little dizzy. What had the humans done while he had been asleep to make the loft smell like this many things?

 

"-just threw this huge rat, right in the guy's face." Cohen ears perk up. He ignores the smells and looks over to the couch where he could hear the deep, familiar rumble of Roger's laughter. He's lying across the couch like he usually does, eyes glowing almost like a cat's and face split with a huge grin. He's not alone, though. The blonde thing is curled into his side, shamelessly rubbing up against Roger for his attention. What the hell does the human think he's doing, snuggling up to Cohen's Roger like that? Roger is his, and why can't the blonde just accept that and go get a new owner? "And the cop," Blonde Thing is saying, smiling back at Roger. "He starts screaming like mad while she makes a dash for it."

 

Cohen growls a little when Roger chuckles and reaches over to scratch behind the blonde's ear. "And you got this all on film?" Roger asks the blonde, talking about things a cat can't understand. That stupid blonde is probably rubbing it in, reminding Roger that Cohen isn't the same species as him. Not that it matters to Roger, because him and Cohen are best friends despite that, but the blonde's tricky and Roger's so clearly obsessed with him that he'd probably listen to anything the human says.

 

The blonde nods a bit, closing his eyes and pressing closer to Roger's hand. Then Roger gives him that warm look that Cohen has seen a thousand times before. That's his look, for when Roger thinks he's doing something cute. Only now it's all for the blonde curled up at his side. Still smiling and looking down at the blonde with that special look that's supposed to be for only Cohen, Roger leans in and whispers something so softly not even Cohen can hear it from halfway across the loft. Whatever it is, it makes the human's skin turn an ugly shade of pink as he laughs and gives Roger a small shove. "You're high," he says, beaming back at Roger.

 

Roger smiles, lifting something to his lips and taking a deep breath. A few seconds later, a white cloud slips out between his lips. If Cohen were there he would jump up and try to catch it, even if he knew he can't. The blonde isn't as smart as him, so he just laughs and snuggles closer to Roger, probably pinning him back into the couch and making it so he can't escape even if he wants to.

 

"So are you," Roger shots back. Cohen cocks his head slightly, looking over the two tangled up together. He doesn't think either of them looks too high, but then humans have weird perceptions of things like how far up they were and how small mice and roaches are. Or maybe it's some kind of joke about how they aren't too far off the ground, because the blonde giggles and cuffs Roger's shoulder a bit. It's then that Cohen remembers how weird humans, even his Roger, really are.

 

Part of Cohen knows he can't be to Roger what the blonde is to him. Because they're both human, and they fit together that way and understand each other and the blonde can scratch behind Roger's ear when he wants to while all Cohen can do is lick at him. When Roger and Cohen talk, it's always "Mark" and "Mimi" and "Mark." When these two talk it's about them. Always about Mark without one mention of poor little Cohen.

 

Well, Cohen isn't going to give up Roger without a fight. He dashes over to the couch, pouncing up onto the two boys and digs his nails in when he lands on the blonde, past his fake skin and into his real flesh. Mark nearly jumps right out of Roger's arms, batting at Cohen who is only saved by Roger scooping him up. "Hey there, little guy," Roger coos, leaning back into the couch and holding Cohen over his chest.

 

"Don't little guy me!" Cohen growls back, narrowing his eyes at Roger's bright smile. "I saw you out here... fraternizing with him!" If Cohen could pout, he would. The best he can do is scratch at Roger's arms, but all this does is make the human laugh at him.

The blonde has his shirt bundled up under his armpits, rubbing at the small marks left on his stomach. "That thing is possessed," he mutters, shooting Cohen a dirty look. Cohen growls a little, reaching his claws out for Mark's nose. Roger laughs again, dropping Cohen to his chest and ruffling his fur.

 

"He just wants to play with you," Roger says, holding Cohen back from pouncing at Mark.

 

"I don't want to play with him," Cohen growls, struggling under Roger's large hand. "I want to play with his liver. See how he feels about stealing my best friend then."

 

"He doesn't want to play with me," Mark says, inching slightly away from Cohen and Roger. "He wants to eat me." For a human, the blonde is actually pretty clever. Too bad he isn't putting it to good use and getting the hell away from Cohen's territory.

 

Roger laughs, shaking Cohen slightly. "He's like this big," Roger points out, holding up his fingers and giving a very human perspective of Cohen's size. He's still a kitten, sure, but he's grown a lot since the other human that smells like fake flowers gave him away. He's certainly not that small. "He couldn't possibly eat you."

 

Before Cohen can leap out from under Roger's hand, two larger hands (softer than Roger's though, and much darker) are picking him up and away from the blonde's face. Looking down on the two humans, he sees the blonde turn a horrible shade of pink again. Like a hairless puppy. "Collins!" Mark squeaks, staring wide eyed up at Cohen. Past Cohen to the guy who is picking him up and tearing him away from his Roger.

 

"Collins," Roger says, sounding much less like a mouse than his other pet. "Thought you'd passed out in Mark's room."

 

Cohen tips his head back to see this Collins they are talking about. From what he can make out, he's a human with a grin just as bright as Roger's but something is wrong with him. A cat can sense these things, and Cohen can tell something is missing from Collins' smile. "I was," Collins says, tucking Cohen under one arm so that he's being forced to look down at Roger curling up with the blonde on the couch. "Then I heard what sounded suspiciously like two very high young men squealing about being eaten? I didn't want to miss the party."

 

Roger laughs, wrapping his arms around the blonde and pulling him back when the human tries to slip away. "That was Mark. I think the pot's made him paranoid."

 

The blonde swats at the hands holding him in place. Yeah, sure, like he's not enjoying being pressed up to Roger right in front of Cohen like that. "Is not," he protests, squirming a bit. "That cat really is a menace."

 

"Be nice," Roger mutters, but he's chuckling when he says it and smiling at the blonde like it doesn't matter that he just insulted Cohen. He holds up the small roll of paper he'd taken a breath up earlier, offering it to the human who still had his hands on Cohen. "Come on join us, if you want."

 

Cohen can feel more than hear the new human's laughter shake through him. Buried under one arm, he realizes a lot of the new and strange scents in the place had been coming from him. Cohen doesn't like it, even if he is curious as to why the human smells like dirt. He wants to be back with Roger. "Bus ride back from Brown wore me out, I'm afraid," he says, shifting Cohen's weight a bit. "I trust you two will be fine without me."

 

Both of the humans on the couch laugh and Collins turns to go back to Mark's bedroom, still with Cohen in his arms. Cohen meows and squirms and swats at the human, but Roger is totally oblivious and too wrapped up in his blonde to notice Cohen's being carted away. "You think just because you tear me away from him for a bit I'm not going to bite him the first chance I get," Cohen says, looking up at the dark human with no real fur to speak up, giving him what he hopes is a nasty look in human terms. "The thing is clearly way too quiet for my Roger. He needs me in there to protect him against blondie!"

 

Just like usual, though, Cohen's growls go utterly ignored. He's dropped rather unceremoniously on top of Mark's bed, bouncing a little as the human closes him in the small room. "Now then," Collins says, sitting beside him and petting him a bit. Not nearly as good at it as Roger, but Roger's too busy petting his stupid little blonde pet to be in here with Cohen. "You must be the kitten Mark is so jealous of."

 

"Like it's my fault Roger has taste," Cohen replies, laying down on and watching the door, waiting for Roger to come in and remember him like he should be doing any second now.

 

"Apparently Roger forgot your name," Collins says, breezing through the topics as if Cohen hadn't said anything at all. "What do you say we go with something like..."

 

Cohen starts to give a snarky reply, but Collins has gone still and Cohen can feel the room turn dark. He cocks his head, looking up at the large human sitting next to him. That something that had been missing from his smile is filling the air now. Before Cohen can even meow to ask what's wrong, Collins shakes his head and moves past it. "How about Marx? You seem like you're misunderstood."

 

Ruffling himself up a little, Cohen fought to move past the weird air that had settled over them in that passing second. "Cohen Marx? And here I thought my day couldn't get any worse."

 

"Well, Marx the cat," Collins says, leaning back into bed with Cohen still beside him. "What do you say we give the boys some alone time tonight?"

 

"Alone time my tail," Cohen snaps back, still staring towards the door even as it becomes more obvious Roger isn't coming to rescue him. "If we leave them alone too long there will be kittens by next morning."

 

*

 

"They look like ying and yang," Collins says, whispering to make sure he doesn't wake the two boys just yet. "Whole and separate."

In his hands, Marx squirms and meows, desperately trying to free itself. This is one thing Collins has to side with Roger on. The kitten is cute, and rather feisty. Collins gets the feeling it didn't enjoy being locked away in Mark's small room all night, but he had wanted to give the two boys some time alone. Maybe let them figure out a few things that were obvious to everyone else in the world. "I thought love was supposed to make you blind," Collins chuckles, leaning over to let the little thing run off. The seconds it's out of his hands it's darting for the couch. "Not dense as all hell."

 

Maybe the outside perspective let him see what Mark is just now catching on to things to one little kitten. If only Angel were here, she would know just what to do to help nudge the boys in the right direction. Damn, his girl always knew exactly what to say in these situations. Still leaning down after releasing Marx, he watches the kitten scamper over Roger, batting at the spikes of his hair. He can almost feel Angel standing right behind him now, hand on his shoulder as that gentle, calming influence his baby always had washed through him.

 

"Like a little family," he would have coed, helping pick Collins back up. "Daddy, daddy, and their little albino, attention loving soon. What a perfect little mix."

 

Collins chuckles even as that warm feeling disappears, and that imaginary weight that had settled over his shoulder vanishes again. He puts on a smile, padding over to the couch to see if he can at least give the boys a decent push. From the way Mark is cuddling up to Roger in sleep, Collins would say he doesn't have too hard of a job cut out for him. It will be good for Roger to finally have someone who can actually handle his mood swings, and good for Mark to be with someone who doesn't leave him pinning for just a little bit of honesty and attention. They'll be good for each other, and that's something everyone desperately needs.

 

With a slightly louder laugh, he holds up his finger to tell Marx to be quiet and stop scratching at Roger's arm. He really wants to enjoy their expressions when they wake up like this. Clearing his throat, Collins leans back and crosses his hands over his chest and just watches them until he's sure they're both deep in sleep. "Wake up time, boys!"

 

Roger groans, grabbing hold of Mark and snuggling up against his chest. An earthquake couldn't get that boy out of bed before noon. Mark is a lot easier. His eyes are open the second Collins' booming voice fills the room, expression going from comfort (honesty, Collins thinks) to surprise (shocked with himself for letting it happen) to humiliation (doesn't know how he's going to explain this one away) in a split second after waking. Collins doesn't give him too much time to worry about it. He grabs hold of Mark's collar and hauls him up off the couch.

 

"You and me," He announces, giving Mark a warm smile as the boy struggles to get a hold of himself. "We're going shopping. You boys don't even have a full bottle of beer in this place." He gives Mark a look to go with the friendly smile, just so he knows this little outing is about far more than keeping them fed and drunk.

 

Totally oblivious, Roger rolls around a bit before snuggling back into the couch. "Something with meat for Cohen," he mutters, smiling as Marx jumps up on the couch to curl up in what had been Mark's spot next to Roger.

 

"You know I don't eat meat," Mark points out, trying to get his cheeks to stop burning as he scrambles up to his feet. Collins can't help but slap him playfully in the ass, causing Mark to yelp again. He laughs and motions the stumbling filmmaker towards the door. Oh, he's definitely got it for Roger.

 

"I have money I want to spend on you two," he says, pulling on his coat before grabbing Mark again and dragging him towards the door. "I suggest you bask in that while you can." Mark nods and follows along, out of breath before they even start down the stairs. Collins is nice enough to let Mark gather his own thoughts before he chimes in with anything. Mark is a smart kid, and even without any interference he'd probably figure things out on his own. Collins had a visiting professor job down at Georgia Tech next week (they had no idea what they were in for) and wants to see the two boys at least somewhat happy before he leaves them.

 

They drop into a corner store, remaining mostly silent as Collins grabs a few things, always with one eye on Mark. Ah, he can't keep it in anymore, and Mark doesn't look like he's getting too far on his own. "How long?"

 

Mark looks mildly suspicious, but otherwise clueless. "How long what?" He asks, hoisting the full bag of food and drinks into his arms.

 

"Have you and Roger..." Collins trails off, shooting Mark a look and counting on the way the boy's face turns a hundred shades of red and pink.

 

The blush from earlier comes back full force. "Oh, we're not..." Collins tries to bite back a wide smile as Mark tries to stutter through an explanation. It's damn hard not to laugh when Mark is being so obvious, though.

 

He manages to keep back the grin, raising an eyebrow and asking, "You aren't?" Mark shakes his head with maybe a little more force than he needs to, covering it with a nervous laugh.

 

"Come on, Collins, you know me. I'm still making doe eyes at Maureen," Mark jokes. Hard to argue with that. Mark still is hung up on Maureen, which is half of his problem. But then Roger is still in love with Mimi, still in love with April and every other girl he's ever written a song for. Of course, neither of the boys seem to see how lucky they were to have that many people to connect with. Another easy observation to make for the man who had fallen in love once, and then lost her while Mark, Roger, Mimi, Maureen, well, they all have more love than they can seem to hold onto.

 

"And Roger," Mark presses on with the verbal denial. "He's so obsessed with Mimi's cat, it's almost frightening. You'd think the little thing was her."

 

Without missing a beat, Collins adds, "It's too bad he can't stop staring at you then, huh?" He laughs at Mark's express, not saying another word on the subject. With all those clues, even his students could have found a solution by now.

  
  



	3. Presents & Pretense

It's been two days since they fell asleep on the couch snuggled up to one another, and Mark is still blushing. Which is stupid, really, because it's far from the first time they'd passed out together. It had, however, been the first time Mark woke up snuggled so close to Roger he could feel almost every inch of the other boy up against him. This had definitely been the first time Collins had ever talked to Mark like the two were a couple.

 

This is all too confusing to think of. Mark pops one of the allergy pills Collins had gotten for him. At least he can breathe again, even if now he doesn't have an excuse for why his head spins when he's too close to Roger.

 

"Damnit, Collins," Mark mutters, narrowing his eyes and glares halfheartedly at the ceiling above his bed. If he hadn't put ideas in Mark's head, the filmmaker wouldn't be so confused. He definitely wouldn't spend most of his time trying not to look at Roger so he can see if Roger is looking at him.

 

He thought it had been bad when he let Maureen try that strap on thing once. No, this is it. The lowest of the low. Mark moaned, covering his face in his hands and trying to disappear. It's not worth it anymore. He is pathetic. He is worse than pathetic, because he is lusting after his best friend who is lusting after Mimi who isn't even here, he still kind of wants his ex-girlfriend who cheated on him who is now a lesbian back, he has no real job, his films aren't going anywhere, he hasn't had sex in over a year, and to top it all off, he's jealous of a cat. His life has entered its own new stage of pathetic.

 

"Hey, Mark." Mark moves his arm off his face, blinking up through the dark until he can see a blur that must be Roger standing in his doorway. Sighing a bit, he grabs his glasses and slides them on so that the blur becomes Roger. If only everything else could be corrected with a good pair of lenses.

 

"Hey," Mark answers in an I-wasn't-just-thinking-about-you sort of voice. "What's up?"

 

"You remember James?" He asks, petting the kitten that is almost a cat that is clawing up his shirt.

 

"Uhh..." Mark's mind really tries to connect that name with something instead of thinking about how tight Roger's jeans are today. Where had that thought even come from? Did Roger think those thoughts about him? He blushed, suddenly feeling so dorky in his corduroys and sweater. "He's uh..."

 

"From my old band," Roger supplies. "I'm, uh, meeting up with him for lunch." Mark smiles a bit, nodding excitedly for Roger. It has been ages since he had talked with anyone outside their close group of friends. Even if Mark doesn't entirely trust James, he trusts Roger. Before he can even answer, Roger is dropping the kitten on the edge of Mark's bed. "Can you watch the cat while I'm gone?" He asks. He obviously knows what Mark is thinking (mainly that the cat is demon possessed, and he's pretty sure he thinks that the cat actually curls up into his coat at night just to get his allergies acting up in the morning. That thing is possessive of Roger, and gets some sort of sick twisted joy out of mocking Mark) because he's flashing Mark a begging, childish sort of pout that Mark can't say no to even with the demon cat glaring up at him.

 

"Uh... Sure..." Mark says, shifting a bit nervously on the bed and hoping Roger got the hint to move the thing away from him before it attacked.

 

Roger, of course, doesn't. "Thanks, Mark," he says, reaching over and giving Mark's shoulder a light squeeze. Mark wants to look up and see if there is anything there when Roger is reaching for him, but he just locks eyes with the kitten. It might have claws, but it's safer than Roger. "I'll be back in an hour or so, okay?"

 

"Yeah, sure," Mark mutters, smiling one last time at Roger before his friend grabs his jacket and leaves him there with the kitten on the end of his bed glaring up at him with huge huge, crystal blue eyes.

 

Well, they were kind of cute eyes.

 

"Look," Mark says, scooting a bit towards the cat. "Let's make this easier on both of us. I'll, uh, get you some food or something, and then we just won't talk to each other from the rest of the day." The cat stares up at him and doesn't look away. Like it's listening to Mark talk and trying to get some point across. Mark shakes his head, laughing at himself. The thing is just missing Roger, probably, and scared to be left alone with Mark.

 

Absently, he reaches out to pet the cat. "He'll be back soon," Mark promises, his voice soft and reassuring. "He's just going to talk with James for a while. Probably about music. He'll be fine. Besides," Mark pauses, looking up at his ceiling as he worries his lower lip. It's good for Roger to get out like this. It's healthy for him, and more importantly it means he will stop being so hung up on the past and start living his life. So Mark is happy for him, and swallowing the slight nervous feeling that is knotting in his gut. "We can't keep him locked in here forever."

 

The cat meows a bit, looking up at Mark and blinking a few times. Mark nods. "I wish I could, too." Did he just answer the cat? Mark rolls his eyes a bit. Now he's thrusting his own worries onto a kitten.

 

"You're not too bad," he tells the demon cat after both of them are quiet for a while longer. "I mean, Roger's pretty fond of you, so you can't be too evil, I guess." The cat meows, turning its head slightly so Mark will scratch along it's cheek. "I'll bet he's a closeted cat lover," Mark says with a slight smile. "He's in there writing you love songs, probably. What's he call you?"

 

If the cat even understood, it just purred in response. "Something like... Johnny Rotten or something. You know who he is? From The Sex Pistols?" Mark picks up the small ball of white fluff, dumping it into his lap. "Well, Pistol, let's get you something to eat so I don't have to worry about you."

 

With a loud meow the cat stands up on two paws, batting at Mark's glasses. He laughs and pulls the thing off, cuddling it to his chest like Roger did. "You seem excited about something," he muses as he stands up and walks towards Roger's room to try and figure out what he feeds the thing. "You're a lot like him, you know, probably just causing trouble for the attention."

 

He's probably going crazy, but he swears the kitten purrs in agreement.

 

*

 

Cohen is not stupid. He might not get everything Roger says or be able to do those human things like open doors and play guitar, but he gets the important stuff. He gets the stuff that is above language and species, like how Roger feels. He can sense when Roger needs someone to be beside him, to rub against his leg and purr a little so he knows he's loved. Cohen can sense when Roger is happy and wants to be jumped on and have his hair pawed at. He can even sense Roger's Mark moods, and these are the nasty ones. The ones Roger doesn't want him around for. The ones where Cohen gets swatted away because Roger and Mark are on the couch with all these hormones they're not doing anything about, anyway, making the air tense. It drives Cohen insane.

 

Today just happened to be one of those Mark days. The three of them are on Roger's bed, with the humans laid out and Cohen curled on Roger's stomach, his favorite spot in the world. Cohen keeps drifting in and out, waking whenever he's shaken by Roger's deep, rumbling voice. There isn't too much talking, though, so Cohen gets plenty of sleep. Mostly it's just the three of them lying there in what might be a comfortable silence if it weren't for the heat the two boys gave off for each other.

 

After a particularly long silence Cohen is woken up by Roger asking, "Two years since what?"

 

Cohen yawns and stretches out over Roger, making sure not to claw up Roger's favorite black shirt. "Since Maureen left me," Mark mutters beside them. "November 15, the day she became a lesbian." There they go again, using words like Ales Beeann that they know Cohen can't understand. Half the time when Roger is with Mark, Cohen swears they agree to talk in code just so he won't be able to tell what they're talking about.

 

Roger's laugh sends Cohen bouncing slightly on his chest. "I don't think it works quite like that."

 

"Sure it does," Mark reasons, turning slightly on his side so he's closer to Roger. Cohen gets ready to pounce if he comes any closer. He isn't stupid. He knows what Mark is trying to do. He wants Roger's attention all to himself, but Cohen isn't going to give up his Roger without a fight. The thing might have height and weight on him, but he bites off his claws and doesn't even have real fangs to speak of. What is he going to do?

 

Cohen never gets the chance to attack. He's in place to do some major damage to Mark's face when, "Ah!" Roger turns on his side to face Mark, and Cohen rolls off, landing in a heap behind him. "Roger!" Cohen whines, trying to hop back up on him, but Roger is thoroughly distracted by his other pet, leaving no room for Cohen.

 

"You're right, Mark. She totally turned into a lesbian in one day, all over you," Roger says, ignoring Cohen's attempt to climb back up on him. He stalks up the bed, putting his claws up onto Roger's shoulder to get his attention. What he sees is horrible. Roger is petting Mark. Right there where Cohen can see him, running his big rough hands through the thing's small, yellow patch of fur. "Wow, you must have really fucked up with that one."

 

"Come on," Cohen growls, getting back down and taking a few steps backwards so he can jump up onto Roger. That should get his attention back where it is supposed to be. "How can you even stand to pet him? He's mostly bald! And I've never seen him clean himself. He's probably dirty, Roger!"

 

"Shut up," Mark says, and must push Roger because he nearly rolls back over onto Cohen, who only barely escapes by jumping back again. "You know what I mean. Today's the day..."

 

Despite being pushed, Roger rolls right back into place. "It wasn't like she was good for you," he answers, scooting closer to Mark. Cohen shakes himself off from the near fall, wiggling back into pouncing place. Mark isn't going to get rid of him that easily.

"I know..." Mark says, and Cohen can see him pressing into Roger's hand. Next thing he'll be purring like some of sort of kitten straight off the street all 'take me in, I don't have fleas'. "I just... I wish I knew what it was about me that sent her running to... from a scrawny, albino starving-artist to a large black lawyer? I mean, could she have made the point any clearer!"

 

Roger laughs, a low sound that shakes the whole bed. It's the laugh that means Cohen has done something he thinks is amusing, only this time it's for Mark. What does the thing do that is so special, anyway? It doesn't jump when Roger dangles toys for it. It doesn't keep rats and bugs away from him when he sleeps. It doesn't even lick him to make sure he stays clean. It just sits there and talks, and Roger gives it all the attention it doesn't deserve. "Maybe you were just too much albino filmmaker for her to handle."

 

"Yeah," Mark answers, and even though it is curled up to Roger and being pet it doesn't sound happy. Clearly, Cohen thinks, the thing is an idiot. Actually, Cohen knows it's an idiot. This is the same thing that wants to call him Pistol, and thinks they're friends just because he let it pet him once or twice while Roger had been out. "That must be it."

 

"I'll bet it is," Roger purrs, a soft sound Cohen never heard before. He didn't even know humans could purr like that. He's about to go investigate when he notices the heat. A strong wave of it washes through the room, throwing him for a second. He smells at the air, picking up on a familiar scent although much stronger, sharper now.

 

He smells around for a few more seconds before he realizes the scent is coming from the humans. He looks back up at them, and he can barely see around Roger to catch a glimpse of what is going on. It takes him a few seconds to figure it out, but Mark is biting Roger! Or at least that is what it looks like, with their lips smashed together like that and every now and then he catches a flash off teeth. "Leave him alone!" Cohen growls, hopping over Roger and going for Mark's eyes, claws scratching across some weird, glass surface as he attacks.

 

It works, though, and Mark jumps back from his Roger, panting and staring down at Cohen. Cohen sticks his tail up at him, settling down next to Roger and hissing, "You thought you could hurt my Roger? Like I'd ever let him touch some mongrel like you." He looks back up to Roger, trying to give him a look the human will understand. "See? I saved you. I tried to tell you he was trouble but..."

 

Roger isn't listening. He pushes Cohen aside, ignoring his protest as he tries to crawl across the bed to Mark. "Look, I-"

"I have to go!" Mark announces, not looking back at them as he hurries out of the room. He's probably too afraid to even look at Cohen. "I have to go film. I'll see you later."

 

The door closes before Roger even gets off the bed. Cohen looks up at him, padding across the mattress to rub against his hand and wait for a thank you, or at least some sign that Roger realizes Cohen had saved him from Mark.

 

Roger doesn't even acknowledge him. "Fuck," he says, still watching the door like Mark will come back. Cohen can smell him, though, and Mark is long gone from the whole loft. "Fuck..."

 

*

 

The heat that Cohen is used to turns quickly into something more tense. Something that makes Roger drag himself through the loft like each step is a chore, hardly doing more than sleeping or staring blankly at the ceiling. Cohen doesn't understand why Roger is acting like he just got neutered. After all, Mark had attacked him and Cohen scared him off and saved Roger. Now the blonde thing is afraid to stick around the loft too long, always going out to play with his black toy that doesn't dangle or make a noise when you bat at it.

 

Three days after the attack, Roger is curled up on the windowsill and looking down. Only he isn't really looking, Cohen realizes once he squeezes outside and hops along on the little room right outside the boy's apartment. He gets his claw caught in one of the giant holes in the floor - why do humans build rooms outside with holes in them? - and Roger doesn't even crack a smile. Giving up on bringing Roger out of his mood, Cohen slips back inside and curls up on top of his feet, thinking he might as well catch a nice afternoon nap before the mice come out.

 

Right then the door slams open and sends Cohen jumping off Roger's feet, heart racing as he looks up at the sudden noise. "God!" A loud, unfamiliar voice calls out. "Don't you guys ever decorate this place?"

 

Cohen can feel Roger tensing up. He scurries up his leg to sit in Roger's lap and get a good look over the couch. The blond thing is back, and it's brought more people to play with. They look like Collins and the girl who used to own him before Roger. Wait, no. There is a different smell about these two. He cocks his head, looking critically over the two new humans. The dark-furred one is too small to be Collins, and the other one isn't the same color as the girl who used to own him. They're different humans, Cohen thinks. Of course, they all sort of look alike to him. All big, fleshy and mostly balding. How do they even tell each other apart?

Whoever they are, Cohen doesn't like them because Roger doesn't like them. He can feel the human tense and then he scoops Cohen into his arms, holding him protectively to his chest as one of the things bounces over to them. "Roger," it says in just the way that gets Cohen to hiss. The human has an annoyingly high voice, like the bird Cohen has to scare off the fire escape in the morning.

 

The human leans over and all Cohen can see is her balding, pink flesh she didn't even bother covering up with that fake fur or skin. Maybe she has fleas, Cohen thinks as he studies this new creature Mark had brought home. "Ahhh!" It says, still in that tone that makes Cohen's fur stand on end, "Markie, you didn't tell me you guys got a kitten!"

 

"I'm not a kitten!" Cohen meows at the same time Mark is saying, "We didn't. It's Mimi's. She just left it with Roger." Cohen hisses at him as well. He doesn't want to go with the flowery smelling human anymore. He wants Roger, and he isn't going back there.

 

The new human doesn't seem interested in either of their protests. It just keeps looking at him. "She's so cute!" it coos, and Cohen is going to bite her hand off if it tries touching him. He is not a girl, and he isn't going to let it get away with calling him that.

 

"Just try it," he growls as the human reaches for him. He does mean to bite at it, really, but then the human actually starts petting him, and it's really quite good at that. He'll bite later, he thinks as he closes his eyes and rubs up against its hand.

 

Just as Cohen starts to purr he gets ripped away from the hand that is doing a great job at scratching just behind his ear. "What do you want?" Roger asks, and Cohen can hear the growl in his voice as he talks to the new human. She's really not that bad, Cohen thinks and wonders what Roger has against her so much. Maybe he thinks she's Mimi, like Cohen had at first. Roger doesn't even have a good sense of smell, so he probably can't tell that this human smells totally different from Mimi. Actually, she smells a lot like the other human Mark brought home. Maybe they're from the same litter.

 

The new human stands up to speak with Roger. "What is your problem?" She asks, and the other, dark-furred human comes over and grabs her by the shoulder. "I was just trying to pet the poor thing. Living with you two boys, it needs a mommy." She's back to Cohen's level again, flashing her fangs at him. "Don't you, little baby girl? I'll bet they haven't even given you a name yet."

 

"That's not true," Roger and Cohen say together. "My name is Cohen," he tries to explain, but they don't understand him and Roger just holds him closer to try and get him away from the new humans.

 

"Its name is Pistol," Mark says from the side. Everyone turns to look at him, and Cohen can see that weird rash on his face coming back again. "I mean, Mimi named it, and... Uh, Roger forgot what it was so..."

 

The dark-furred human lets go of the girl's shoulder and snorts, bending down to look at Cohen as well. "I would have thought you'd name it something like Tremble or Art." The other humans look at the dark-furred one and it rolls its shoulders back, like it's stretching after a nap. "What? I think Art is a cute name for a cat."

 

"Well..." The girl is petting him again, and this time Roger doesn't yank him away so he can actually enjoy it. "I think we should call it Albina."

 

"Albina?" The dark-furred one asks. Cohen has to agree. Albina sounds like a dog name, and Cohen is anything but a dog. The girl might have claws that are just right for petting, but she clearly can't tell a dog from a cat, or a boy from a girl come to think of it.

 

"If you weren't so good at this, I would be biting you," Cohen warns, but it comes out sounding more like a purr more than anything else, no matter how hard he tries to sound threatening.

 

"Yeah. You know, like the feminine form of Albino," she answers, still scratching behind Cohen's ear, so it's hard to argue with the fact that that sounds nothing like a real name. "I mean, look at her. She's paler than Mark, and that's really hard to do."

"Maureen!" Cohen purrs a little more, enjoying what sounds like Mark getting his tail stepped on.

 

At least Roger is there to translate for him. "Why would you even think it's a girl?" he growls, and Cohen is pretty sure his fur would be standing up, too, if it weren't always standing up.

 

"I can just tell," Maureen says, scratching Cohen somewhere that makes him purr even though he should be clawing her eyes out for thinking he's a girl. "Look how cute she is. She has to be a girl. I can just tell these things."

 

"And you've been a lesbian how long, exactly?" So that's what an Ales Beeann is, Cohen thinks as he cocks his head slightly and looks over Maureen. Maybe it's just a human who doesn't have enough fur.

 

Maureen stops petting and stands back up, and in a second Mark is there, between the two. "We're going to lunch, Rog. Want to come along?" Cohen hisses when Mark's hand gets too close to Roger and he jerks it away. After he's sure Roger is safe from the blonde, he looks up at him, meowing a bit.

 

"Don't go with him," he says, despite the fact that Roger isn't even looking at him and certainly can't understand him. "He might try to attack you again, and no offense, but you weren't exactly fighting him off last time. What will you do without me there?"

For once Roger seems to get what Cohen is trying to tell him. "I'm not really hungry," he says, and Cohen can hear his stomach, but if Roger says he isn't hungry, maybe it will make Mark go away.

 

The blonde thing doesn't give up so easily. "Come anyway," he pushes, trying to touch Roger and getting his hand scratched at. It moves back pretty quickly.

 

"I said I didn't want to," Roger answers, moving Cohen slightly to protect him from Mark. It's a sweet thing to do, even if Roger never really fights Mark off, and clearly needs Cohen to save him.

 

"If he says he doesn't want to go, then he doesn't want to," Maureen says, wrapping an arm around Mark's to keep him back. Cohen decides that he likes this Maureen girl. After all, since she's been over Roger has mentioned Mark once, and she is obviously upsetting Mark, which Cohen appreciates. He should get her something, he thinks as he wiggles out of Roger's arms and lands on the windowsill, jumping down and being mostly ignored by the humans, who are now talking about someone named "Pookie" (probably a dog, with a name like that). He can't go home with her, because then who would protect Roger from cockroaches at night and clean his hands and make sure he napped some during the day? Still, this Maureen human deserves something special for distracting Roger from his other pet for a while.

 

Cohen is almost to Roger's room when he hears it. A slight scurrying in the walls. Cohen pauses, ears perking up as he waits for the sound to get closer. This is too perfect, he thinks as he stalks over to a nicely sized hole as quietly as he can, getting ready to pounce as he hears the rat sniff around for a way out of the wall.

 

"Fuck," Cohen growls, using a word he's learned from Roger, as the rat scurries further down the wall. He follows right after it into Mark's room as silently as he can. There it is, kind of small and curling up inside the tangles of Mark's blue and white collar. Cohen sneaks behind it, wiggling down into a position to pounce as he waits for the rat to stop jerking around. It's nervous, and it should be. This is Cohen's home, and he isn't going to let a rat in.

 

Steady, he tells himself, eyes gleaming in the dark as the rat finally starts to settle. Then he's pouncing, landing on the rat's hind legs with a hiss. It squeals and squirms, and Cohen's claws go everywhere as he tries to get them in the rat's skin. The collar and rat both get scratched up pretty bad, but in the end Cohen prances out of Mark's room with the animal in his mouth.

 

Proud of his victory, Cohen marches up to Maureen with her present hanging out of his mouth. He drops it at her feet, rubbing up against he leg to get her attention again. She's still trying to talk about her dog. "Oh, give up, pookie," she says, eyes slowly drifting downward as Cohen bats at her jeans. "He's - Fuck!"

 

Cohen jumps back as Maureen lets out a scream, looking away for whatever is causing the commotion as the panic unfolds around him. "Oh my God," Maureen says, clinging to the other new human who is slowly pulling her away. "Oh, God, a rat!"

 

"Where?" Cohen asks, lowering himself to the ground and sniffing the air to try and find the animal. The only thing he can see is Maureen's present. "Oh, no. That's dead," he assures her, hopping back onto the body and rolling it over to show where he'd sliced it open. "See? It's for you."

 

There is another scream, and two of the humans hurry out the door. "Wait!" Cohen says after them, watching as the blonde thing runs out to follow them out of the loft. "I can catch a bigger one, I just didn't have time, that's all."

 

There is a low, deep chuckle, and Cohen is being scooped up off the present and held against Roger's chest. "Good job, buddy." At least someone understands him.

  
  



	4. Mimoso Art-Albina Pistol Marx Cohen (And Us)

Mark finally manages to drag himself back to the loft at ten that night. After Maureen and Joanne had found him wandering down Madison Avenue with his camera rolling and invited him for lunch, all he expected had been some free food. He hadn't been planning on spending three hours listen to Maureen over dramatize the rat incident. That cat might be cute, and he might be able to put up with Roger, but it is still nothing but trouble. Dragging a rat to Maureen like that? Is it trying to spite Mark? Just because he doesn't pay as much attention to it as Roger? Well, Roger doesn't pay as much attention to him now that he has that cat, and Mark isn't throwing dead rats at him.

 

"God, I need sleep." Dragging himself towards his room, Mark barely has time to put his camera on the desk before collapsing into bed. He's obviously lost it. He's jealous of a cat, he's putting up with his ex way after they've broken up, and he's jerking off to his best friend in the shower. He just needs to sleep for, say, a month. Then maybe he'll be sane again.

 

Mark curls up in bed, snuggling against the covers. Sounds like a good plan, he thinks as he closes his eyes. He reaches out for the blanket, finding his scarf. He starts to toss it off his bed when his fingers slip into a hole. Yawning, he opens his eyes and looks down to the striped cloth in his hands.

 

"I'll kill it!"

 

Mark throws the door to Roger's bedroom wide open. Roger looks up from the bed where he's sprawled out with Pistol. He tears his necklace out of his claws and hides the kitten behind his back just as Mark throws open the door and comes storming in, flushed and glaring. Roger has the nerve to actual chuckle. Like there is anything amusing about this.

 

Mark holds out his old blue and white scarf, the tattered ends dripping out of his fist. "It killed my scarf!"

 

Roger cocks his eyebrows, looking from Mark to the scarf, totally unimpressed. Mark can hear the cat meow, and Roger puts his hands back behind him to try and hold it in place. "So?"

 

"So," Mark says, looking around Roger and narrowing his eyes again. Stupid little cat that Roger is so concerned with protecting. "It ate it."

 

"He didn't eat your scarf, Mark." Roger rolls his eyes, obviously not seeing what the big deal is about the scarf. It is a big deal, though, and Mark is standing there with the cloth hanging out of his hand, trying to get Roger to stop smiling. "Look at him, he's like the size of my hand. He couldn't eat your scarf. If anything, your scarf would eat him."

 

Mark growls, which just makes Roger laugh again, and tosses the scarf around his neck. "It ruined my scarf," he says again, as if this time it is really going to sink into Roger's head. Of course, as far as he is concerned, Pistol can do no wrong and Mark is just overreacting. "I had this scarf for years, Roger, and now it's... It's a cat toy."

 

"Five years," Roger says, finally pulling Pistol out from around his back and setting the cat on his lap, petting it softly.

"What?" Mark asks as he wraps the scarf around himself. The tails fall down, shredded and unwinding and he can feel the giant hole in the back.

 

"Five years," Roger repeats. "I gave you the scarf, you know. For your first winter in New York." Mark nods slowly, amazed that Roger remembers. He had been complaining about the lack of heat, and this scarf ("A gift from my mom. It looks lame on me.") was the best Roger could do to get him to stop bitching about the weather.

 

"And now it's in pieces," Mark says, pulling at one of the tattered ends.

 

"He was just trying to play with you," Roger says, lifting Pistol and setting him on his shoulder. The cat wobbles a bit, biting at Roger's ear and knocking around his hair a bit. It's like the cat is purposely rubbing in that he gets to be closer to Roger. "He wants your attention, that's all. He just does shit like that so you'll notice him."

 

"Well, I noticed him. Now keep him out of my room." Figuring Roger is going to be impossible to argue with, Mark walks out of the room. He closes Roger's door, leaning up against it and sighing in frustration. What is wrong with him? It's just a cat. Why does he have to be so upset with it?

 

"Why is he so upset?" Mark rolls his eyes just imagining Roger sprawled back out over the bed with Cohen jumping at a string. Like the cat can answer him.

 

Of course, Roger's question is just followed by silence. Mark starts to get up from the door and head back to his room. Sleep, he reminds himself. Then Roger says, "I don't see what the big deal is. It's only a scarf."

 

It is only a scarf, and Mark really doesn't care that much about it. Yeah, it's nice to have in the winter but he isn't about to break down over something as small as a scarf. The point is that Roger just lets that cat do whatever he wants and never gets angry at it, never lets other people get upset with it, never runs off to Santa Fe when it's upset him.

 

Cindy is right. Mark does have deeply rooted emotional problems.

 

"Sometimes I don't get him," Roger says, totally oblivious to the fact that Mark is standing right outside his door and is clearly insane. He must have lost it, to be standing here listening to Roger talk with a cat while he starts comparing pet handling to real life situations. "I know... He's my best friend and I should... I should tell him..."

 

Mark leans up against the wall and waits. He isn't sure what he wants to hear. Maybe some sort of confession that he set Pistol up to tearing away at the scarf. He isn't sure, just waiting. "I'm just scared. What if he runs away?" Mark doesn't run away. Roger hasn't done anything yet to make him run away, and Roger has done a whole lot of shit starting with drugs and ending with that cat. Still, if he were going to leave, it would have been a long time ago. Back when Benny offered Mark a job and a way out of watching over a sick, relapsing Roger. Even then he stayed through the withdrawals. Why would he leave for something as silly as a scarf?

 

"You wouldn't run away, would you Cohen?" Mark freezes up, caught in the act of listening in on his best friend. He should just leave now. "Nah, you're a cat. Cats always know where home is." He named the cat Cohen? Is this because of what Maureen said? He is going to kill Maureen. "You'd stick around even if I told you I loved you, huh?"

 

In under half a minute Mark is out the door with his camera. It's not running away. It's working.

 

*

 

He should be going home. Mark wraps his arms around himself, trying to hide his camera in his jacket. What had he been thinking, walking out into Alphabet City at this time with an expensive piece of equipment? Did he want to get mugged? What the fuck had Roger been thinking when he said that?

 

Calm down, Mark tells himself as he loops around the block for the fourth or sixth or a hundredth time. Those are exactly the thoughts he isn't supposed to be having. Those had been out of context or something, and even if they hadn't been, what is Mark going to do about it? Okay, so he finds Roger a little attractive. He's always thought that, since the first time Maureen dragged him to see one of Roger's shows and there he was on the stage smiling down at Mark and glowing gold. Mark finds lots of people attractive, though. Mimi is gorgeous, but he would never do anything with her. Just because he thinks Roger is hot doesn't mean he loves him. Mark is a hormonal young artist; he finds lots of people attractive. Hell, he'd sleep with Allison Grey if it weren't for the fact that she is the daughter of one of the overpriced kings of capitalism.

 

Besides, Mark knows himself in love. He's a sucker for the girls he dates. From Nanette to Sasha to Maureen, it's always the same. He would do anything for them, but they always leave because he spends too much time with school or his work. He obsesses over them. He's still obsessing over Maureen, and he knows that if he weren't thinking about Roger right now he'd probably be thinking of her.

 

Shit.

 

Oh shit.

 

So he does do things that Roger asks, like taking care of Pistol while he's out and follows Roger out of the loft every time he goes anywhere and asks Mark along. Okay, but that's just a best friend thing. That's just Mark being a good friend with Roger. It's not like he's really that obsessed with his roommate.

 

Fuck.

 

Mark turns the corner and starts hurrying towards the old, worn down building and the loft and Roger and that damn kitten. He doesn't know why he is rushing into this. He doesn't even think it's possible that he could be in love with Roger whom he has known for years, whom he has seen through so much, whom he already knows so well that there can't possibly be anything new or different between them.

 

He starts up the stairs, past some painted heart. Graffiti left by Collins and Angel. Collins knows, Mark thinks as he looks over his shoulder at the fading images. Collins asked if they were a couple yet, he hinted that Roger and Mark loved each other. He knows. Roger must know, right, if he's talking to a Goddamn cat about it. Is Mark really the last one to catch on? This is like Maureen and girls. Why doesn't anyone ever tell him about these things? They all think Mark is so observant, and he is as far as the outside world is concerned. They should know by now that he doesn't notice his own life as it passes by. The filmmaker is never on camera. How is he supposed to see himself?

 

He strips off his jacket when he gets into the loft, wrapping his camera inside it and placing it up high where Pistol can't get to it. What is he even going to say? Hey, Roger, I heard you tell the cat you loved me. Can we fuck? Not exactly the best planned speech. Mark sighs, running a hand nervously through his hair as he starts taking slow steps towards Roger's bedroom. They're still best friends. This is easy. Just go to him and tell him what has been rolling around inside Mark's head for some five years now. Try not to sound like a crazed stalker fan while doing that. Definitely leave out the bit where he started jerking off while smelling his coat. Even if Roger does feel the same that is still just weird.

 

Mark takes a deep breath, resting his hand on the door. He needs to stop beating himself up and open the damn door. No day but today is for everyone. For the junkie stripper who is turning her world around. For the anarchist professor who lost his angel. To the songwriter who keeps losing his songs. To the filmmaker who keeps closing his eyes when things get too graphic. He doesn't want to be the goofy best friend anymore. Just Maureen's ex or just Roger's caretaker or just the friend with the camera. Isn't it about time he recast his own role? Why couldn't he ever write lines like that when he was still using scripts to film?

 

"You're delaying," Mark points out to himself, staring at his hand as if it will grow a mind of its own and open the door already. Amazingly enough, it does. The door opens, and Mark steels himself for... He doesn't know. Stepping inside, he takes a deep breath and says, "Roger."

 

There is a light snore in reply. Roger is curled up in bed with the covers bunches around him. "You're an asshole," Mark sighs, flopping down on the bed next to Roger. He can see the drool sliding out from his mouth and pooling on the pillow next to him. Not exactly angelic. "I was this close to having a breakdown, and you are in here sleeping."

 

Mark gets comfortable on the bed, twisting and turning until he's curled up like Roger is, but on top of the piles of covers he's managed to tuck around himself. Is he cold? Mark looks through the open door to his bedroom. Maybe he should get him some more blankets. He doesn't want Roger to catch anything. Before he can climb back out of Roger's bed, the other boy starts stirring and making small, odd sounding grunts. Yeah, far from angelic. Mark stops moving, looking back to Roger as he yawns and stretches out slightly. Please don't freak that I'm watching you sleep, Mark thinks desperately as Roger starts to open his eyes. 

 

"Mark?"

 

"Yeah," Mark answers, slowly starting to relax again. He drops back to the bed, smiling at Roger through the pale light from the open door. Roger's squints and rubs at his eyes before smiling back.

 

"What are you doing here?" He asks, snuggling down into his pillow. Everyone thinks Mark is such a dork, but Roger is the one who treats his pillows like teddy bears. Usually Mark would tease him about being such a teenage girl, but right now he just smiles. Right now he's just glad Roger isn't going to run away if he lets this slip.

 

"Just checking on you," Mark answers, scooting over the blankets and a little closer to Roger now that he doesn't have to listen to him snoring.

 

Roger nods a bit, moaning some as he pulls the covers higher over his shoulders. "Where's Cohen?" he asks. Mark starts with a sarcastic answer before he remembers that Cohen is Pistol. Right on time, the cat springs up onto the bed, prancing over the huge waves of the blanket and right up to Roger. "Hey buddy," Roger says in a low, sleepy voice as he reaches for the small kitten.

 

After a while Pistol apparently gets bored of being sandwiched between the two of them and goes back to destroying Mark's things or killing rats or whatever it does when Roger isn't petting it. "Is it morning?" Roger asks, closing his eyes again and burying himself under the covers.

 

"Not really," Mark says, shrugging a bit and looking back at the clock. Eleven twenty-seven. "I was just..." Mark had just been walking around the block, wondering why he had to fall in love with someone like Roger. Don't they have enough problems just being friends? Mark already knows all his dirty secrets, his disgusting habits, his fucked up past and he still loves him. He really must be insane, but he doesn't regret it.

 

"Roger?" Mark doesn't know what he is going to ask. It doesn't matter, because next thing he is aware of he is pulling away from Roger after leaning forward to kiss him. Quick, chaste, almost entirely friendly except for the fact that Mark doesn't want it to be. Swallowing hard as he scoots back into his own space on the bed, leaving behind a confused looking Roger, he says, "Don't ever be afraid to tell me shit, okay?"

 

"Yeah," Roger says, and as Mark starts moving back he moves forward. Slowly, as if moving too fast will scare Mark off. "Okay."

They kiss again. Roger's chapped lips press against Mark and they just stay there, this limbo of a kiss they don't know how to respond to. Eventually Mark leans closer, licking at Roger's lips to get him to react. Then they're actually kissing, a soft and slow almost lazy kiss, but there is something there. Something more than just friendship sparks between them, and if Mark's brain were functioning he would want his camera so he could see what.

 

This kiss is broken by a yawn. Roger pulls back, lying back down on his pillow. He's smiling as he snuggles back into place, closing his eyes and yawning again. Mark can't help but laugh. "So that's it? The sex drive of the amazing Roger Davis?"

 

Roger doesn't even reply. Pistol seems to get it, though, jumping back onto the bed and scratching at Mark's shirt to defend Roger. He is so used to the kitten by now, that Mark just picks him up and moves him away. It's not exactly a movie style romantic ending to their kiss, but Mark likes that. There are no Hollywood fireworks, so maybe this is actually real.

 

Pistol looks up to him with wide blue eyes. He still seems to be glaring, but Mark doesn't care. He scratches the kitten behind the ears, smiling at the small, fluffy thing. If Mark hadn't heard Roger talking to it, he wouldn't be here now. That's enough to make him like Cohen. "Thanks, Pistol," he whispers, picking it up again and moving it away so he can snuggle up to Roger.

 

"Mark?" Mark pushes Pistol to the floor, rolling back over and facing Roger. He's still lying there with his eyes closed.

 

"Yeah?" Mark asks, tugging the blankets over around himself. Two fully dressed boys in bed together with a cat on the floor and a small pool of drool on the pillow. Could this be any less erotic? Mark really doesn't care anymore. He's just happy that he isn't confused.

 

"Were you talking to Cohen?" Roger asks without ever opening his eyes, moving his mouth only as much as he has to.

"No," Mark lies, putting an arm around Roger's waist. This all feels strangely easy, slipping into something more than friendship. "Go back to sleep."

 

*

 

"What do you mean, you lost it?"

 

Roger holds up his hands, taking a step backwards just in case. He dated Mimi long enough to know her style of fighting is typically more like the silent treatment than anything else. Still, her nails are painted a bright silver that makes them look like knife tips, and he'd rather not be in the way of that. "Look, it just ran away, okay? I'm really so-"

 

Mimi isn't listening. She throws her hands into the air, choking on a frustrated scream. "I should have known better," she says, shaking her head and shooting Roger a nasty glare. "God, Roger, you probably threw it out the door the first chance you got..." Her big brown eyes turn to Roger, looking for some sign of sympathy. "Please, tell me you didn't throw the poor defenseless thing out..."

 

"Gee, thanks for the confidence, Mimi." Maybe Mark had been right when he'd told Roger earlier that Mimi isn't the one acting like a bitch, that Roger is the one that causes all these fights. Maybe he shouldn't have said that, or started out this conversation by telling her that her 'stupid little cat' had run off. He can almost feel Mark in the back of the loft, glaring at him for being an asshole. Roger has never been good with his temper, though, and Mimi hurt him. "I'm sure it will come back in a few days. It's only been gone for two."

 

Holding out her hand, Mimi waves Roger off. "Forget it, Roger," she says turning around and heading for the stairs. Part of him is surprised there is no explosion. What had been between him and Mimi had been all passion and fire and energy, and exactly the sort of relationship Roger needed in his life then. Now that it had cooled down, both of them could hear a soft tick in the background of their lives. "Forget it, Roger, it's not about the cat."

 

"I know but..." His words are lost to the stairwell. Maybe when she's gotten her life in order they can start seeing each other again. Not even romantically, but he doesn't want to leave her like that. He knows better than anyone what it's like, those first few months after drugs when everything is jarring and all of life seems to hurt so much. She just needs some time, Roger thinks as he slides the loft door closed and walking towards his room. Mimi is a strong, beautiful girl. Stronger than Roger ever was. She is going to be fine.

 

Before he has taken three steps, there is a small meow that makes Roger jump, eyes flying wildly around the loft.

 

"Can we keep him?" Mark asks from the doorway of his room with Cohen snuggled up to his chest. Two pairs of blue eyes look up at Roger, big and pleading. Roger almost falls backwards, looking at the white cat in Mark's arms. He hadn't been able to find him for two days and he'd looked everywhere. Around the loft, the fire escape, the halls, the roof. Half the block must have thought he was crazy, roaming around the alleys and calling for the thing.

 

"Where did you-" He takes a few steps forward, reaching out to pet the cat. It really is Cohen. He can tell from the eyes and the slight cock of its head as it leans into his fingers.

 

Mark's face goes bright pink, his eyes focusing on the cat instead of Roger. "I, uh, sort of hid him."

 

If Roger weren't so amused he might have been angry. "You hid him?" He asks, smiling and cocking his head a bit to get Mark's attention. "I thought you hated him."

 

"I don't... Well, hate's a strong word." Mark smiles back at Roger, cheek still flushed. "But I wanted to keep him. And, you know, we can get Mimi another cat for her birthday or, I guess, if she really wants Pistol back she can set up a joint custody thing where maybe we get him every other week or..."

 

Roger's laughter cut Mark out of his rambling. "You want joint custody for a cat?" He teases, even if he thinks it's not that bad of an idea. There is more space in the loft for Cohen to run around in than at Mimi's place, anyway, and the boys managed to take pretty good care of him while she was gone. Why shouldn't they get to raise him?

 

"He's like you," Mark says, smiling down at the cat, which gives Roger time to stare at him. He hasn't seen Mark look that happy in a while, maybe since the day they met Angel and everything had been fun and good. Maybe he's the reason Mark is smiling like that, and that makes Roger start beaming. He hopes that Mark smiles like that more often. It's nice to be like this again, instead of watching Mark watch their lives fall apart from behind a lens. "He just kind of attaches himself to people."

 

Roger shakes his head, scratching behind Cohen's ear until he starts to purr heavily. "He's like you. He's always watching things and way too curious for his own good." He chuckles a bit at the color that flares up in Mark's cheeks.

 

"He's so clingy," Mark counters, poking Roger playfully in the shoulder. "He's obviously yours."

 

"Give up, Mark," Roger says, dodging Mark's hand. "He's too much of a dork to be like anyone but you."

 

Mark laughs a bit, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks back to Cohen, who playfully bats at a lens. "He's like you, Davis, just get over it," he says, jerking back from the cat's paws. "I like him."

 

"I like him, too." Both boys go quiet, staring down at Cohen who stares expectantly back at both of them from one to the other. "We should keep him," Roger finally says, breaking the silence slowly. "Maybe for just a little longer." Tired of being carried, Cohen leaps out of Mark's arms, walking to tear up the already ruined couch. While he's doing that, Roger turns back to Mark. "I'm surprised you can get attached to anything other than your camera."

 

Mark growls playfully, and he sounds kind of like a cat himself when he tries, cuffing Roger in the arm just enough that he pulls back. "It's not true," he says, smiling and ducking when Roger tries to hit him back. "I just don't think Pistol would be that happy with Mimi."

 

Roger stops what he is doing, mainly trying to find a way to hit Mark back, and reaches down just as Cohen darts past. Hefting the cat into his arms, he looks over Mark. Like he can find something hidden away in those blue eyes. Like he's asking, what the hell are we doing? "You really think so?" He asks, getting Cohen to calm down as he pets behind his ear, wondering if that would work on Mark. "You think he'll be happier up here?"

hours

"I think," Mark says, taking a few steps closer until his and Roger's hands are resting together on top of Cohen, and both forget to actually pet the cat. "He'd be happy as long as he was with you."

  
  



	5. Kids Will Be Kids

The loft likes silence in the mornings. In the afternoons, which are quickly turning hot and balmy as winter leaves, it has to deal with the sounds of creation and relationships. With music, if Roger is feeling inclined to pick up his guitar, or the sounds of Mark's camera reeling. Joanne's strong heels clicking over the floor, following Maureen's excited voice. Mimi's long sighs while she and Mark wait for Roger to apologize, telling them both she loves them anyway. Carpe diem, she says even if she can't seem to smile. Late nights the loft revels with the low hum or parties. Of alcohol and pot and intellectual babble. Now the nights are filled with the ruffling of covers and gentle kisses without words. From the afternoons to the early morning hours the loft is alive with the sounds of her artists.

 

In the morning, though, the loft and its occupants don't like being disturbed and usually aren't. Most anyone who would drop by is still fast asleep at those hours, and the boys themselves are curled around each other with the light sheets kicked off (a sign of summer). So the quiet tends to last until the boys finally wake up. That is until today, when a loud knocking decided to disrupt the otherwise usually morning.

 

From the piles of sheets that are strewn around Roger's bed, a head pops up. Wide blue eyes look around wildly for a second before the kitten yawns and lies back down. It doesn't feel like wasting its morning nap with loud noises.

 

The knocking doesn't stop.

 

"I'll get it." Groaning, Mark tries to fight away from the tangle of covers and strong arms that don't want him to move. "That's the door," he says, as if this will magically get Roger to let him go. All the struggling in the world won't get Roger to let Mark slip away when he's half asleep, something Mark learned pretty quickly once he moved into Roger's bed.

 

Even with Mark flailing around, Roger only barely wakes up. "So?" He nuzzles up to Mark's chest, ignoring the wiggling. In the past few months that Mark has slept with Roger he has become pretty use to this. Roger snores, kicks, hogs the blankets, and has the tendency of holding Mark in bed until he's ready to get up, which means Mark misses a few good daylight hours that could go towards filming. Yet despite the snoring and drooling and bad breath, Mark still winds up here every night.

 

"So..." Mark still hasn't escaped the bed, and whoever is at the door isn't giving up. "I have to answer it."

 

Roger doesn't seem convinced, or simply isn't willing to let go. "What if it's Benny?" He asks, squeezing his eyes closed and refusing to wake up fully even after Mark has finally managed to squirm away from him. Mark frowns, brushing some bleached out hair away from Roger's eyes. Weird how at night he is the one that can't get close enough to Roger, even when the Roger seems less than anxious. Then in the morning, it takes nothing short of beating him up to get him to let Mark out of bed.

 

"I'll tell him to fuck off," Mark promises as he pulls on a pair of jeans, just in case it isn't Benny or one of their friends who is use to seeing Mark in various stages of undress. It happens when you live in a cramped loft together for so many years, most of them spent drunk. With a quick kiss, Mark drags himself towards the door, muttering a few choice words under his breath at the persistent, early visitor.

 

If it had been Benny, and Mark is sure it is before he opens the door, he probably would have thrown a few vulgar sayings in his direction for interrupting their morning. Thank fucking God that when he does answer the door, he's shocked enough that the kid inappropriate words die in his throat.

 

"Mark." Cindy moves past him without waiting for an invitation, ushering two of her kids inside. Dan follows after his wife, a third kid tucked away in his arms and what the hell is this? Mark watches all of this like he's watching an out of place sequence in a dream like film. With this sense of surrealism and wonder as to why his sister and her family were standing in his loft but unable to reach out and actually do anything about it.

 

There is a small chorus of greetings. Very small, as Mark is still waiting for the surprise to wear off and his drowsy and now shocked mind to catch up with the rest of the world. Cindy is busy telling her oldest to take off his headphones and at least smile at his uncle. Dan merely nods at him, which is better than usual when the two get together. The only one who really says anything is Amanda, giving Mark a cheerful smile and jumping against his waist.

 

Mark gasps a bit, surprised by the weight of the - what is she now? Eight? - year old girl as she throws herself at him. "Uncle Mark!" she cries, jumping slightly and hugging Mark hard enough to hurt and sends him stumble backwards as he tries to catch her.

 

Giving up on Matt, Cindy sighs and reaches over to pull Amanda off of Mark, who is still reeling from this whole experience of having his sister's family show up at his loft. "Amanda, what have I said about jumping?"

 

"Who the fuck is it?" It's Roger's yelling that finally gets Mark to snap out of his shock, wincing as Dan and Cindy both give him a nasty look. As If it is somehow his fault she brought her kids to Alphabet City when they should be tucked away safely back in the suburbs.

 

Regardless, Mark gives his sister an apologetic look and calls back, "Just a second, Rog."

 

Cindy loses her disapproving look, the one she stole from mom, and Mark swears he can see his sister light up at the mention of his roommate. "Roger is here?" Years ago, when Mark first moved into the loft, Cindy had dropped by to visit him. This been right before Roger's band gained some local fame, some groupies, some addictions. He just smiled at her and, despite the fact that she had two kids and was pregnant with another and was, as far as Mark knew, happily married, she fell instantly in love with the rock star. Just like every Cohen does.

 

"He's sleeping," Mark explains, bristling slightly at the way Cindy goes all teenage girl over Roger. It's gross, to think of his sister wanting his boyfriend. "Why are you here?"

 

Amanda grabs hold of her mom's legs, no longer beaming up at Mark and bouncing around as much. In Dan's arms, their youngest twitches and nearly wakes up. Mark sighs gently, trying to relax and not act like a total bastard in front of the kids. He doesn't want his nephews and niece to think he's upset with them. He just wants to know why his sister, who he hasn't spoken to in months, is standing in his loft with her kids when Mark should be back in bed.

 

"Don't be like that," Cindy chastises, yet another thing she has mastered after learning from their mom. "I came all the way down here to see you. And, by the way, this isn't exactly the best part of town to bring children-"

 

"I know that!" Mark says, defending himself against more of that irrational logic that it is somehow his fault Cindy brought her kids here. If Mark had his choice, no one in his family would ever visit him. God, he could only imagine if his mom saw where he lived. She'd probably die of a heart attack out of pure worry.

 

It has always been like this between them. Ever since they were kids, Cindy and Mark had this clash in personalities. It not like they hate each other. At times Mark would swear he loves Cindy more than anyone else in the world, and she's shown she loves him about the same. Like the time in fifth grade that she pushed her boyfriend down the stairs for calling Mark a faggot (which, okay, turned out years later to be half true but that isn't the point) and all those times she soothed the parents over after Mark did something reckless like selling the car they bought him and purchasing a camera (and calming them down hadn't actually worked, but at least she tried). Still, there is simply something about being around one another that sets them off sometimes into fights like these.

 

"I don't see why you have to live in a place like this anyway," Cindy says, pursed lips and all to be a perfect replica of mom. Maybe it is the mom impressions, Mark considers. Like he doesn't get enough of his mom on the phone almost every day, and he loves her too but there is only so much he can take. "It isn't exactly safe or healthy."

 

That doesn't settle well with Mark at all. Who is she to come here, unannounced, with her family in tow and tell Mark how to live his life? He left home and came to New York to make his own decisions, not to be babied around by his big sister. And maybe that's what Mark's probably is with Cindy's random visit. Mark is an artist; independent and rebelling against the hegemony of society and all and here his sister is to make him feel like he's sixteen again and ready to get into another fight because mom and dad are letting her go out while he's stuck doing homework. Being with Cindy makes him feel trapped again.

 

It's about then that Dan decides to get in between the two, literally stepping between them with Adam still fast asleep in his arms. Probably worried that they're about to go for each other's throats. That's unfair. Cindy and Mark haven't been in a fight since Cindy beat him up when Mark was seven. He learned his lesson about pulling his sister's hair. "Honey," Dan says, fixing Cindy with a look. Not a bad look, just the sort couples give each other when they don't think anyone else can understand.

 

Mark stands to the side, crossing his arms over his chest as Dan and Cindy exchange looks. He gives the couple some of his own looks, too, wondering when they're going to get to the point and get out and he can go back to bed. The morning had been going so well, too, and then his sister shows up with her kids and husband and all those connections back to Scarsdale that Mark ran away from. He should be with Roger, even if Roger's probably already awake and so if Mark tries anything he'll push him away and just kind of smile, and damnit now he's upset over thinking back to being just some kid in high school and frustrated that his boyfriend won't do much more than cuddle and still waiting for his sister to say something.

 

Finally Dan and Cindy seem to agree silently on something, and Cindy sighs and looks back to Mark. "I need to ask you a favor."

 

"I'm not going home." Mark gets it out as quickly as possible, straightening himself out so that he's almost as tall as his sister (and how in the world did she get to be an inch taller than him, anyway?) trying to show off just how determined he is about this. No way, no how that he's going to go home and face his mom. He'd already called and done the good son thing. Well, he'd called Vince and told him about Roger, and Vince would end up telling his parents who would tell Mark's. That's how they found out about Maureen. That's how they find out about everything in Mark's life. It's a system that has never failed him and there is no way he is going home to test just how fast it takes for his parents to get the news that he has a boyfriend. No way, no how.

 

"I'm not making you go home," Cindy says with another roll of her eyes. Even if she's starting to treat him like just some stupid younger brother, Mark relaxes a little knowing that this isn't about trying to force him back to Scarsdale for a visit. "I just need to talk with you about something." Cindy glances around at her kids, not that they seem to notice much. Matthew who is leaning against the counter and never glances up from his game, Amanda clutching her mom's leg, and Adam resting in Dan's arms. Mark's niece and nephews he barely knows and have now taken over his loft. Okay, that's an exaggeration but he wants to be back in bed, not arguing with his sister. "Can we?" She asks, nodding back towards Mark's bedroom, asking for some privacy.

 

He doesn't have to go home, though, so it's probably best if he just gives in and does what Cindy wants. That's how it's always been. She's more stubborn and aggressive than Mark could ever be. That's why she always ended up winning when they fought. That's why dad always said she'd make a great lawyer, while he rolled his eyes when Mark covered his walls with anti-war propaganda from the seventies. "Fine," he says with a sigh, leading Cindy back into his empty bedroom. Maybe they can get this over with before Roger gets up.

 

*

 

Roger has always been a deep sleeper. Not just a snooze through the alarm sort of guy, but a keep sleeping while the building is collapsing around him and sirens wailing guy. So even after Mark has left, Roger is all to ready to just drift back to sleep and when whoever the hell it is goes away, Mark will come back and they can spend the morning not getting up.

 

So it's annoying when, after a while, Mark isn't back in bed. It means that Mark isn't there, Roger isn't sleeping, and he might actually have to get up and check to make sure his filmmaker hasn't wandered off somewhere with his camera and forgotten that Roger needs these mornings of not moving to get him through the day. Fucking Mark and his work ethics. It's all Collins fault, Roger thinks as he rolls out of bed with a growl. When Mark first got to New York, he wanted to be independent and artistic, sure, but then Collins comes and takes Mark under his wing and rants on about Anarchy and Change and Mark gets these big ideas in his head about how film can do these things.

 

It's a stupid connection to make, but Roger is tired and wants to be curled up with his boyf- ... With Mark, damnit, and Mark is probably of filming a dead bird or something. There are some days, when Roger would love to just throw his camera off the roof so that Mark would stop spending so much time with the damn thing.

 

Roger is not an early morning guy at all.

 

He doesn't really think about who might be at the door. Probably Benny to bug them about some shit or another. He doesn't really come around anymore (whipped, Roger thinks with a smirk, by that wife of his) but Roger has gotten use to the asshole coming to collect rent. So he stumbled out of his room, figuring he'll tell the guy to fuck off, grab Mark, and force him back into bed for another hour at least. Roger getting some rest should be more important than the film that Mark is afraid to finish, anyway.

 

Roger is too tired for the full shock to hit, but that doesn't mean he misses it totally as he leaves his room and finds four people he's never seen before standing around in the loft, staring at him. "Who the fuck are you?" Roger asks, scrubbing at his face and trying to wake himself. Not how Roger is use to being woken up.

 

"Umm..." The adult, some tall guy with a big nose and suit and a kid in his arms, looks at Roger with this uncomfortable expression. Roger is use to that look. It's the sort of look yuppies would give him and April as they went into those high end shops dressed in torn up, thrift store clothes, making a mess until someone came and kicked them out. That uncomfortable, almost frightened look. April use to bask in that look. "You're... You're Roger, right? You probably don't remember me. I'm Dan. Cindy's husband..."

 

Roger squints a bit as he takes a second glance at the guy, trying to place all this information. "Right..." He actually, barely remembers this guy from that one time Mark's sister came up to visit. He's been high that entire weekend, so everything is blurry at best. Having Mark's sister's husband here doesn't make any more sense than some stranger wandering up into the loft, though. "What the..." Roger pauses, looking down at the three kids standing around their dad. Okay, maybe he should cut back on the cursing. "Where's Mark?"

 

"Ooh!" Roger jumps away as the girl screams, clutching the doorframe as he stumbles backwards. Not that he's scared by some little girl's squealing. Just startled, that's all. Yeah, and the girl is totally harmless as she bounces towards him, pointing at the floor. "Is that your kitty?"

 

What the fuck is she - Oh. Roger looks down between his legs, and sure enough Cohen is stretched out and yawning. Apparently he can't sleep without Mark, either. "Yeah..." Roger says, straighten back out and running a hand through his hair. Not that it would help with the mess. "Yeah, that's Co..." Roger has to stop again. Okay, so maybe telling the girl that cat is named after her uncle would be a bit odd. Especially if Roger tries to explain why. "That's Pistol."

 

The little blonde girl, she looks a little like Mark with her blonde hair and bright eyes, she doesn't seem to be unnerved by Roger at all. She moves towards him in leaps and bounds, bending down and grabbing for Cohen. "She's so cute!" She coos in that typical, female to animal voice thing that they all do. Roger thinks it probably drives Cohen insane.

 

He lets her play with Cohen, though, because at least she isn't staring at him like he's a freak. Something the father is still doing. "Where's Mark?" Roger asks, unable to stand the look the guy is giving him. Come on, it's his own fucking loft and who does this guy think he is that he's just staring at Roger like that? At least Dan stops long enough to point towards Mark's old room. Roger nods, ignoring the family as he brushes by them. Maybe Mark can explain what the fuck is up.

 

"No! I just... No way in hell Cindy!"

 

Roger frowns, pushing the bedroom door open as quietly as he can and slipping inside so that he doesn't disturb Cindy and Mark's argument. Or, really, Roger could care less about that. He just doesn't want to get in trouble with Mark, who is looking more than annoyed as his sister gives a long winded, frustrated sigh. "They're your family, Mark. Don't you want to spend time with them? Adam doesn't even know you."

 

Before Mark can start something, and he looks about ready to, Roger steps up. "Hey..." He gets both of their attention rather quickly as he leans against Mark, who doesn't back down from his cute little pout even with Roger beside him. Cindy, though, she starts to relax a little and flashes Roger a smile, much brighter and opened then her brother's lopsided grin. "What's going on?" He asks, returning the smile to Cindy and setting a hand on Mark's shoulder to try and get him to loosen up a bit. What he really wants is for Cindy and her family to leave so that Roger can go back to sleeping.

 

"Nothing," Mark says, turning to leave and grabbing Roger's hand to take him with him. Not that Roger minds, but Cindy doesn't look ready to let them go just yet.

 

Before they can get to the door she reaches out and grabs Mark's shoulder. "Mark won't even take care of his own nephews and nieces!" She gives Roger a look, as if he should understand how important this is and why are they dragging him into this when he's still half asleep? "It's just for one day," she points out, turning back to Mark, begging with him. "Just take them to Conney Island for the afternoon. Let them have some fun. I'll even give you the money to do it, Mark. Please. Me and Dan want to spend one of our days in the city with just each other!"

 

From the look on Mark's face, he is determined to keep them here all day if Cindy doesn't give up. "Look, we'll take them," Roger says, and why not? Just some kids, and they get money out of it, and what is the big deal anyway?

 

They don't really seem like siblings until they're both giving him this wide-eyed, shocked look like he'd just announced his band's next show will be at the Republican National Convention. It isn't like Roger goes around punching babies. Hey, he used to take care of little kids all the time, back in high school. Not that Mark has to know about any of the embarrassing jobs Roger took to earn enough for his Fender.

 

"Well... Well, thanks, Roger..." Cindy recovers first, although she still looks shocked as hell to here Roger say he wants to take care of kids. The second she shakes that, though, she's smiling at him again, handing Mark a bankcard and telling him the PIN. She keeps shooting Roger these little, almost shy smiles that Roger has no idea how to react to so he just smiles, uncomfortable and getting annoyed with the looks Mark gives him. He doesn't see what the big deal is, anyway. They're being paid to hang out with some kids, and Mark keeps giving him these nasty looks like he's done something wrong.

 

"What the hell was that?" It's the first thing Mark says after Cindy goes to say goodbye to her kids. He narrows his eyes behind his glasses, Roger can't help but reach out and straighten them on Mark's nose. He knows how much it annoys him when other people touch his glasses. Okay, maybe he shouldn't be pushing Mark right now, but he doesn't get why he's so upset and he's cute, when he's swatting Roger's hand away.

 

"What's the big deal? It's just taking some kids on some rides all day." Plus, some free cash to get some food. It's a way to get out of the loft all day, too, with Mark instead of Mark being off pretending to work on his film while Roger calls up his old band mates and pretends to write music. "It will be fun."

 

*

 

"You be good for uncle Mark, okay? I love you, pumpkin head," daddy says, giving Adam a quick noogie before letting him go. He's laughing until daddy actually sets him down, his orange-blonde hair everywhere in a tangled mess as his daddy cuffs outside the arm one last time. "You have fun with uncle Mark, okay?"

 

It's then that Adam really lets it sink in that mommy and daddy were leaving him with strangers, and he hates when they do this. They did it at the temple and at school, and Adam doesn't like it. Why can't mommy and daddy just take him with them! He wants to be with them! He doesn't like this place. It's cold and smells funny and he doesn't know anyone and why won't mommy and daddy stay!

 

"Don't cry, Adam." Sniffing, Adam rubs at his eyes and glares at Amanda, who is playing with the kitty she'd caught earlier when that strange guy came out in just his underwear. "They'll be back."

 

Adam wipes at his eyes, looking around the large, gray looking room his mommy and daddy left him in. It's so big and boring and there isn't even a TV or carpet or toys and the two people mommy left him with - the uncle and underwear guy - they haven't come out yet, and Adam doesn't like this place at all. Adam doesn't know what to do, and at least Amanda has the kitty and Matt is listening to his headphone and playing on his gameboy. Matt is older, though, and he doesn't need parents to be around because he's almost grown up. Without mommy or daddy here Matt is the next best thing to a parent, so Adam walks over to his older brother, who throws himself down into one of the weird looking seats. It's all mismatched and creaks when Matt sits in it and messy. Why doesn't uncle Mark ever get yelled at to clean up?

 

"Matt..." Adam pulls at his older brother's sleeve, trying to get his attention. Matt keeps playing his gameboy. He's beaten every game ever. "Matt!" Adam raises his voice, tugging harder so that Matt has to tear off his headphones and look down at him. His music is blasting around the room. He listens to the coolest stuff. Stuff mommy won't even let Adam listen to.

 

"What is it pumpkin head?" Matt asks, rolling his eyes as he pulls Adam's hand off his jacket and pausing his game. Only Matt and daddy ever call him that and it makes Adam feel special because he has a nickname and no one else in his class has one other than stupid ones. Only right now Adam doesn't feel special. He just wants mommy and daddy to come and pick him back up. If he were special they wouldn't leave him here.

 

"Where'd daddy and mommy go," Adam demands to know, stomping his foot against the hard ground and pouting up at his big brother. Matt knows as much as adults and is really smart, so he should know where mommy and daddy are and why they left Adam. He could probably even get them back if he wants.

 

"They went to dinner," Matt says, shrugging and turning back to his video game. It's unfair because Matt has his games and Amanda has a kitty and they're both almost adults. This place is scary and big and Adam doesn't have daddy to play with! How could they leave him here?

 

"Why?" he asks. Don't they love him anymore? Why didn't they take Adam with them? The tears start to bubble up in his chest, his lower lip quivering and he keeps waiting for someone to do something. Adam hates crying in front of his big brother, because he says that crying is for babies and girls, but mommy and daddy just disappear without leaving Lindsey to play with or dropping them off with Grandma? "When are they coming back? Why'd they just leave us here?"

 

"They didn't just leave us," Amanda says, rolling her eyes as she bats at the white kitty around. "We're at uncle Mark's place, stupid."

 

Adam sniffles a bit when Amanda calls him stupid. He isn't stupid! He just wants to be with mommy and daddy! "Who is uncle Mark?" he asks. He's heard of his uncle, but he hadn't seen him. Amanda and Matt had, but they're older and they've done a lot of stuff Adam hadn't.

 

"He's our uncle," Amanda exclaims, sighing loudly as she picks up the kitten and starts looking around the large room they'd be left in. "Don't be stupid!"

 

"Hey, guys." The door opens from one of the rooms mommy went in and the blonde guy and the underwear man step out with these smiles that don't make Adam want to like them at all. They don't look anything like daddys or babysitters.

 

Amanda loves everything, though, and she lets go of the kitty and runs over to hug the blonde guy around the waist. "Uncle Mark!" Uncle Mark looks somewhat shocked, but reaches down to pick Amanda up. "Do you remember me?"

 

Uncle Mark pushes his glasses up his nose, like mommy does a lot. "Yeah, of course. Hey, Amanda." Adam sniffs a bit, not wanting to cry in front of Matt and get made fun of more. He's going to remember everyone but Adam, and then he isn't going to know who he is and he's going to kick him out and mommy and daddy aren't going to find him. He just knows it. "Matt," Uncle Mark says, waving at Matt, who just nods a bit and doesn't look up from his game. "And, ah... You must be Adam, right?"

 

Why would mommy and daddy leave him with someone who doesn't know him? Did he do something bad? Why wouldn't they take him with them? Adam doesn't want to cry, but the hot tears are already down his cheek, broken by small sobs and hiccups and he wants his daddy!

 

The two adults give each other a look, and then Adam is crying because he hates it here! Hates it! Hates it! Hates it! He wants to be with daddy and he hates this place and this city and his uncle and everyone! Matt sighs and moves away and in Uncle Mark's arms Amanda says, "Don't worry. He always does this."

 

A heavy, large hand lands on Adam's shoulder, and he has to stop crying for a second so he can look up. The underwear guy is kneeling there and smiling at him, and Adam watches him for a moment wondering what he's going to do. If he's like Mrs. Wilson he'll put Adam in time out, but then Mrs. Wilson never walks around in just her underwear. "Hi," the guy says. "I'm Roger. Uncle Mark's friend."

 

Adam hiccups, rubbing the tears off of his cheeks. Roger in his underwear is about as big as daddy, only he's hair is all messy like he doesn't brush it, and colored wrong. And he's been drawing all over his arms with markers. Mommy never lets Adam do that. "You ever been to an amusement park, Adam?" Roger asks, still smiling at Adam and not calling him stupid or getting him in trouble for crying.

 

"Like Disney?" Adam sniffs, wiping his nose off on his sleeve and Roger doesn't yell at him for that, either. Roger nods, helping Adam dry off his face. "No." He'd seen pictures, though, on TV sometimes when he watches cartoons in the morning. Daddy always says they'll go when he's older, but he's already four and daddy hasn't taken him yet.

 

"Yeah, like Disney. Only more fun." What could be more fun than Disney, though? Adam shakes his head, ignoring how Matt has walked away or that Amanda is talking with Uncle Mark and they're all leaving him. Maybe Roger will help find daddy and mommy again, even if Matt won't. "You want to go to one?"

 

"Maybe..." Adam doesn't want to leave and then be gone when mommy and daddy figure out that they accidentally left him here, even if some place funner than Disney sounds really cool.

 

"It'll be lots of fun," Roger promises. "Matt and Amanda both want to go, but they won't have any fun without you." Adam pauses for a moment, even stops sniffing, and thinks about it. If Matt wants to go it must be okay and Matt always has tons of fun things to do that Adam is too young for, but this time Adam can go with him. Adam starts to nod, and Roger smiles even more at him. He doesn't care that Adam is crying or anything, and he picks Adam up just like daddy does.

 

Tucked in Roger's arms, Adam reaches up and touches one of the drawings Roger had done on himself. It's weird, like a really colorful knot. "Why'd you write on yourself?" he asks, poking at the marker spot on Roger's shoulder.

 

Uncle Mark laughs a bit. "Because he's mom isn't around to stop him." Adam nods, because that makes sense. His mommy would never let him do anything like that. Roger must be really old not to live with his mommy. He's really cool, though, even if he is old and doesn't draw pictures very well.

 

"Let's just go before I go back to sleep," Roger says, nudging uncle Mark in the side. Maybe Roger is sort of like uncle Mark's big brother, Adam thinks as uncle Mark scuffs and swats at him, and Roger just laughs and pushes back. He's taller than uncle Mark, they live together, so they must be brothers.

 

"Great idea," uncle Mark says, reaching out and snapping Roger's boxers. Adam squeals as Roger nearly drops while stumbling forward "I'm sure they'll let you in with just your boxers and all."

 

Asure you wouldn't mind," Roger says as he handsmanda giggles, still clinging to uncle s. "I'm  Adam off to uncle Mark. Adam whines a little, but lets uncle Mark hold him even though it feels like he's going to be dropped. Roger ruffles his hair up, and Adam watches as he disappears into the bedroom to put some clothes on. He doesn't mind daddy not being here, he decides, so long as Roger comes back for him.


	6. Day Out

He just needs to get a little higher. Just a little. If mommy had bought him those shoes like the ones Matt got, than he'd be that tall. Adam just has to stretch himself out a little more, bouncing on his toes. "Um... UMPH!" So close.

 

"It's no use, Adam," Amanda says, shaking her head. Her blonde ponytail almost smacks him in the face. He pouts and tries to hit it away, then goes back to standing on his tiptoes and jumping up. He's almost there, if he just had more hair or something! It's not that far! "You're too short."

 

"I am not!" He isn't too short! He isn't that much shorter than Amanda, anyway, and she's tall enough to ride. He tries to spike his hair up the best he can, standing on his tiptoes again. He isn't too short. His daddy says he's gotten so tall and he is always right. He has marks on the fridge and they're tall. If he were here, he would tell them that Adam is tall enough to ride the roller coaster even if he can't hit the stupid bar they have set up just to keep him off.

 

Uncle Mark bends down, holding his hand up to Adam's head. Adam backs away, looking at his hand. No! He must have lowered it or something! Adam isn't short! "Look," Uncle Mark says, sighing as he stands back up before Adam has time to jump under his hand again. Adam starts to pout, already knowing Uncle Mark is going to be mean. He doesn't like him. He cheated. "Maybe we should ride something else."

 

"No! Amanda shrieks, wrapping her arms around Uncle Mark and pulling at his shirt like she does with every adult when she wants her way. Adam glares at her, too. She shouldn't like Uncle Mark so much. He's cheating. "No! I want to ride."

 

Even Matt who should be on Adam's side looks upset. Tearing off his headphones and Adam can hear the loud music blasting from them, he looks from Adam to the sign. "This is so freakin lame. All the other rides are baby rides."

 

"I am not a baby!" Adam shouts, hitting at Matt, who punches him hard in the arm before Uncle Mark pushes him back. He isn't a baby and he isn't short. Uncle Mark cheated to make it look that way and now they're not going to let him ride.

 

Amanda still hasn't given up with pulling at Uncle Mark's shirt. "I wanna ride the roller coaster!"

 

Before Adam can scream at her again, he's being picked up. Way up past the sign. He looks over at Roger, who will probably yell at Mark for cheating. Only he doesn't! "I'll take him on the carousel."

 

Pouting, Adam is carried away from the cool, big kid ride. It's unfair! He is to tall enough, no matter what Uncle Mark thinks and or some stupid sign says. He isn't a baby! He isn't, he isn't, he isn't!

 

Roger walks through the park towards one goofy looking ride with a big, colorful umbrella on top. It's playing girly music, too. Adam looks over his shoulder at the roller coaster. It's so cool looking, all big and fast. He should be riding that with Matt. "Thanks, buddy." Adam looks at Roger but he is not going to stop pouting. He wants everyone to know how mean his family and uncle is that they cheated just so that he couldn't have fun with them. "I thought I was going to have to get on that roller coaster," Roger says, bouncing Adam in his arms but he isn't going to smile. "Thanks for getting me out of it."

 

Hmm? Adam has to stop pouting for a second so that he can think about what Roger said. Like...he didn't want to ride the roller coaster? It doesn't make sense, because the ride is cool and Roger is cool so it doesn't make sense. "You didn't want to go on the roller coaster?" Why would Roger not want to get on a cool ride like the one Matt wants to go on?

 

"It's not cool," Roger says, and Adam isn't sure if he's lying or not. Roger wouldn't lie, but then Matt wouldn't want to ride the roller coaster unless it was the best ride here. Matt doesn't do stupid, baby stuff. "I hate roller coasters. This is gonna be a lot more fun."

 

Adam looks around at the line that is around the carousel. Most of the kids are his age (which means they're NOT babies). None of the parents look half as cool as Roger, but all the kids are let on without having to stand next to some stupid sign to see how tall they are. This is a much better ride. Only, they have to wait in line and that is going to take forever. Adam waits about three seconds, but it feels like hours, in Roger's arms before he can't take it anymore. "This is going to take forever," Adam points out as they stand there, and they don't seem to be moving forward at all. Adam might die in this line.

 

Roger frowns a bit, getting on his tiptoes to look over the heads of all the other people waiting in line. "Yeah... Come on."

 

He gets back out of line and starts moving around the carousel. "But I want to ride!" Adam screeches, afraid he made it so Roger isn't going to stand in line and ride anything with him. Then Amanda and Matt will have all the fun and Adam will get in trouble for not being quiet in line. It's unfair! Daddy wouldn't pull him out of line if he were here.

 

"I know, buddy," Roger says, and they're at the ride again but not in line. Just standing there, watching other kids who get to ride. Adam starts to pout again. "Just give me a second, okay?" How are they going to get on if they're not in line? Adam thinks Roger is crazy and lying to him, but he nods anyway. Maybe he knows some sort of secret for cutting onto rides.

 

He does! They get to the gate around the carousel and Roger starts to push it open just like that, without any line at all. Adam cries out hurray, pumping his hands in the air at the victory. That is when some girl comes over to them. "Excuse me, sir, you're supposed to stand in line." Oh, she's like a teacher. She's going to get them in trouble and ruin all their fun.

 

Only Roger doesn't go back in line. "Hey, sorry about that," he says, putting Adam on the ground and smiling at the girl. Adam pouts, hiding himself from her behind Roger. He doesn't like getting into trouble. "My sister sort of abandoned her kid with me, though, and I just want to get him on this ride, you know? Trying to wear him out before my band practice tonight."

 

Adam didn't know Roger was in band. Like the ones that Matt listens to? That seems impossible, because the guys in bands like that are... Adam isn't sure, but it seems impossible. Roger keeps getting closer to this girl as he tells the story, and she seems to think he could be in a band. "Well... Umm... I... I guess...." She sounds like Amanda when she giggles. It's weird.

 

"Big thanks," Roger says to the girl, leaning down to pick Adam up again and carry him onto the ride.

 

"Mommy isn't your sister," he points out as they walk around the small track, until he finds this awesome black horse to climb up onto (with only a little help from Roger). He climbs to the giant, plastic horse, watching as Roger climbs onto the one next with him and laughs. It's all white and pretty, with flowers in his hair. It looks silly, for Roger to be on it.

 

"Nah, but I thought she might believe me a little more if I told her you were my nephew," Roger explains, and Adam doesn't really get how this would help, but he nods so that Roger doesn't think he's stupid. Maybe you can't get on unless you're with your mommy or daddy. Adam would have to ask Matt. He knows almost everything about these sorts of things.

 

"Are you really in a band?" Matt asks, moving right into his next question as the other kids who had to wait in line get onto the ride.

 

"Hold on tight when the ride starts," Roger says, leaning over to wrap Adam's arms around the leather strap thing connected to the horse. "And yeah, I play guitar."

 

Adam nods, holding onto the horse as the ride jerks and then starts up. Whoa. Roger plays the guitar, can get them past lines, and would rather hang out with Adam then ride a roller coaster. He's probably even cooler than Matt.

 

*

 

"Uncle Ma-a-a-a-ark!"

 

"Yeah, Amanda?"

 

Kids are exhausting. He is starting to remember why, when his dad made him work at the hospital that summer, he didn't go down to the baby ward with Cindy. And it wasn't because he didn't want to see woman giving birth, either (actually, he was sort of curious about that, in a way that is strange even for a fourteen year old boy). No, it's because kids are loud and needy and always need attention and approval and, God, they're like mini-Rogers only with less of the internalized brooding.

 

Anyway, he is never making a documentary with kids in it. That is for sure.

 

"Uncle Maaaaark!" Amanda is still tugging at his shirt, although at least she has stop bouncing around. Mark supposes this is a small blessing that probably won't last very long. Did Cindy give the kids crack before she left them with him? No, only Amanda. Matt won't stop dragging his feet and kicking at bottles on the ground as they walk towards the carousel. Mark knows he never really respected authority at that age, but he isn't exactly a real authority so what the fuck is wrong with the kid? "I want to ride the spinning ride!"

 

Of course she does. Is there ever a second where these kids don't want something? Adam wants to get on the roller coaster, Amanda wants a teddy bear from the game booths, Matt wants to go home. If Mark was this demanding when he was a kid, his dad would have hit him. Or maybe this is just wishful thinking on his part. Not that he wants to smack his nephews and niece. Mark just isn't use to all this noise. It's coming from everywhere, even worse than back in the city. At least then he can disengage from everything around him, just walk down the street in a near complete silence within himself. Mark is the sort of person who needs to be alone every now and then, not physically but mentally cut off from everything around him so he can gather his thoughts.

 

Hard to do that when he's in charge of two kids; a coke addict and a mini-Roger. Maybe there is a good reason why Mark decided to start obsessively pining over Roger again after all these years instead of going back to his obsessive pining of Maureen like he's been doing for the last three or four. Maybe he really, really doesn't want to get stuck with kids.

 

"We'll go on the spinning ride," Mark promises, not even knowing what the hell Amanda is talking about. He wouldn't even be here if Roger hadn't agreed to it and before Mark could get over the shock, Cindy was already heading out of the loft. Who would have thought Roger would want to spend all day with a bunch of kids? "We just have to pick up Adam and Roger, first."

 

"What if Adam isn't tall enough again?" Amanda vaguely reminds Mark of some sort of Cindy and Maureen mix, only more clingy and giggly than either of them. That makes his stomach twist, thinking about his ex-girlfriend and sister mating. God, that has to be the grosses thing his mind has ever come up with, and Mark is a visual person. His mind has managed to come up with a lot of disgusting things.

 

To distract himself from the mental imagine and Amanda's bouncing next to him, he tries to think of something that would be more disturbing. Maybe... Benny and Joanne going at it? No, Maureen and Cindy still win. Oh, fucking great. That's burned into his mind, now.

 

"He won't be," Mark says, as if he is supposed to know all these answers. They couldn't have just driven down to Scarsdale and left the kids with Mom and Dad? They'd probably be much better at this than Mark and Roger. He loves Roger, yeah, but he can't imagine he's very good with kids. Well, he's been doing okay with Adam, so far so maybe Mark shouldn't judge so quickly.

 

Still, he won't be surprise to get to the carousel and find Adam abandoned.

 

"Jesus," Mark says as they get to the ride to see the line twisting around and around the ride, children and parents locked into the circle with small iron gates. Seems like everyone who wasn't tall enough for whatever the fuck they were on (it made Mark feel kind of sick, but he would never admit that) got pushed over here. "Do you think they even got on yet?"

 

"Maybe they went home," Amanda says, tiny hands clutching Mark's shirt. He wonders if all of Cindy's clothes have these indents where Amanda's hands go.

 

Mark stops at the edge of the crowd, trying to jump up to see into the line and try and find Roger and Adam. He figures it would be easy to spot an old rock star holding a three year old. He didn't expect so many New York parents to have bleached out hair and tattoos. "No, they wouldn't just leave without telling us..." At least, he hopes Roger would comes back to try and save Mark before he left.

 

When they stop, Matt takes off his headphones, apparently only so he can insult his sister. "Maybe you're an idiot."

 

Amanda looks over Mark's back and sticks her tongue out at Matt. Mark decides he sort of deserves it, so he doesn't stop her. He is too busy jumping around like an idiot, trying to spot Roger and Adam in the line and wondering if they have a loudspeaker to announce if a child has been found abandoned by the carousel or not. Jesus, maybe he shouldn't have left Adam with Roger after all.

 

As the panicked thought is really starting to set in, the carousel turns and there are two guys on horses, fake shooting the horses in front of them. Wait... Small kid with floppy blonde hair, handsome guy with bleached out hair and tattoos up his arms and that bright, face splitting smile. It takes Mark a second to shake himself out of staring and convince himself he isn't just hallucinating this whole scene. Or dreaming. This is definitely something he would dream after eating too much Indian food.

 

In case Mark had any doubt, Amanda jumps up, pointing and waving her hand wildly. "There they are!" she screams, jumping up and drawing all sorts of attention to them. None from Roger and Adam, though, who continue spinning around on the ride, apparently keeping track of how many little girls in front of them they can shot down. Mark makes a note to tell Cindy that he can't keep the kids next time, because he already has to deal with his own.

 

Sighing, Mark moves Amanda off of him enough that he can starts jumping higher, waving his hand around like a mad man to try and flag down his boyfriend. It's definitely not why he moved to New York City.

 

"Roger!" Mark calls, like he's going to be heard over the music and the crowd and the loud, crunching sound of the gears that make the carousel somehow seem even more dangerous than the Roller Coaster of Immediate and Fast Paced and Rocky Death or whatever the ride had been called. "Roger! Adam! Over here!"

 

On their next turn around, Roger and Adam seem intent on shooting the crowd, but at least this gets them to notice Mark. Adam first, waving and jumping around on the horse, and then Roger, looking up from his crossed hands that form a gun and frowning until he sees what Adam is going crazy over. Mark calms down once he's been spotted, letting Amanda attach to his leg again. At least now Roger can find them when he gets off the ride.

 

Only Roger doesn't do waiting very well. Still turning around on the carousel, Roger jumps off his plastic horse, grabbing Adam from his. Mark gets a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as Roger scoops up his youngest nephew. "What are they doing?" Amanda asks, nails digging into Mark's arm as she tries to pick herself up and see more.

 

Roger jumps off the carousal, pushing past the crowd to get to Mark before the ride has even come to a stop. If Cindy were here she'd probably kill her brother. "Hey," Roger says, setting Adam down and ignoring the bad looks the moms are giving him.

 

"You didn't have to get off," Mark points out, trying to get Amanda to retract her claws and pull them out of his arm. "You guys must have just gotten on, right?" The line looks like it has to take forever to get too, especially since every adult looks like they have four or five children just growing out of them.

 

"We've been riding for HOURS," Adam says, grabbing for Roger's hand and swinging it to and fro. It seems unfair that Roger got the one that wants to hold hands and Mark got the one who wants to peel his skin off.

 

"You have?" Mark looks back to Roger, raising an eyebrow. Roger just flashes that old smile of his and shrugs. Amazing. Mark hasn't seen that smile in forever, and what is it doing here now? He hasn't seen that smile since... God, it has to have been back when April was still alive. Nothing Mark has done made him smile like that. Nothing Mimi had done it out, either. Mark had figured it was just a lost part of Roger, something left behind in the rush to separate him from the rock star junkie that he'd been. "How'd you do that?"

 

Roger keeps smiling, and the three-second silence seems like enough to bore Amanda. The answer to this is to dig her nails into Mark even harder, and fuck Cindy needs to get this kid a scratching post. "I want to ride the spinning thing!" she yells. At least it feels like she yells it into his ear, bouncing beside him. It can't be cocaine, Mark reminds himself, it just seems like that.

 

"Okay, okay." He tries pulling away from Amanda, and she just clings harder. It might not be so bad if she didn't have nails like talons. "We'll go ride the spinny thing."

 

"Roger can get us on fast," Adam promises as Roger picks him back up. That kid has spent more time in Roger's arms in this day than Mark has, probably, in the collective week. Not that he's jealous of his four-year-old nephew. It's just a thought. "Can't you, Roger?"

 

"We'll have to see if a cute girl is working there or not," Roger says, flipping Adam over his shoulders. Adam squeals, clutching to his neck and fucking beaming and, okay, the kid looks a little cute when he's happy. Still, Mark doesn't - Wait? Cute girl? Well, that explains the smile, anyway. He rolls his eyes, dragging Amanda along as they head towards the ride with Matt, having not listened to a word outside of his headphones, trudging along after them. It's far from your ideal family photo.

 

*

 

"Matty's a baby..."

 

Even if Mark isn't exactly the most responsible uncle in the world, he does draw the line somewhere, and teasing Matt for throwing up seems to be going a little too far. He's sure that vomiting over himself while trying to appear cool and stoic was not the highlight of his teenage year. Actually, Matt looks just about ready to kill himself.

 

"Matt," Mark says, grabbing Amanda's shoulders and pulling her back, hoping that would put her in her place. At least jostle her enough that she can't make more fun of Matt. She's acting like Cindy did, when Mark went through his Marx phase and didn't want to have anything to do with the rest of the world. Only Matt is going through his punk rock stage and covered in vomit. He might actually win for worse off. "Why don't you go into the bathroom. I'll send Roger in when he gets back."

 

He sent Roger and Adam (who might as well have become Roger's extra limb) off to get Matt a clean shirt. He's thinking they must have got caught up playing a game of some sort. They really should be back by now. There is something about being with a sick kid that makes Mark want to be at least a little more responsible with his nieces and nephews. Anything to keep from more vomiting.

 

Matt nods, and Mark can see all those gears turning in his head. Convincing himself that this is the worst day ever, and he's truly the most unlucky person in the world. Yeah right, Mark wants to say, wait until your girlfriend tells you that you turned her into a lesbian. Still, he is pretty miserable, and lets the whole world know it as he drags himself into the bathroom.

 

He isn't gone too long before Roger comes galloping over - yeah, pretty much that is how Mark would describe it, with Adam on his shoulders. Mark isn't jealous of a four year old, because their relationships with Roger can't even be compared. Still, the first thought that pops into Mark's head is that, really, he should be the one riding Roger.

 

God, he is messed up.

 

"Amanda!" Adam sings as Roger puts him down on the ground. "Look! Look! I won you something!" He holds out a bright, bright pink bag made out of a shiny material with glittery flowers stuck to the sides. It's the tackiest thing Mark has ever seen. It looks like the kind of thing Maureen would wear.

 

It does, however, get Amanda to let go of him. She squeals, grabbing the bag from Adam and wrapping him into this huge hug that is probably strangling the kid. Mark gives Roger a look; a very nearly parental look. "You were supposed to buy a shirt."

 

"We did," Roger says and holds out a shirt as proof. "We played twelve rounds of skeeball for it, too." Mark makes a quick note to not let Roger go shopping much anymore, even if it isn't their money he is wasting.

 

"Here," Mark says, snatching the shirt from Roger. He pries Adam away from Amanda and gives him the shirt. "Take this into your brother, okay?" Adam looks at him, then to Roger who shrugs. That's all it takes, and Adam nods, running into the bathroom with the shirt dragging behind him. Mark almost feels like pouting and pointing out that he's the kid's uncle, but he resists the urge. It's not like he's even that fond of kids, so who cares if Adam is more attached to Roger?

 

"Hold this," Amanda announces, shoving the gaudy pink purse into Mark's hands. "I have to use the bathroom," she explains, quickly giving Mark yet another hug before she runs off into the restroom where, Mark assumes, she'll just attach herself to someone else.

 

So, this is what having kids is like. Long, hot summer days out with a teenager who hates you, an eight year old with claws, and a four year old unable to make a decision unless Roger approves. Whining, annoying... Mark is kind of glad Maureen decided she liked girls before they had time to mate. It isn't that he hates them. No, he loves his nephews and niece even if he's pretty sure Matt wants him dead and Amanda is some weird hybrid of girl and clinging cat. Even if Roger is giving Adam more attention than he's given Mark since they started this relationship, if you can even call it a relationship since the most physical Roger ever gets is when he's asleep and he holds onto Mark like he's afraid he'll jump up and leave during the night. It's not like Mark is jealous of the attention his supposed boyfriend - and that is what they agreed to, isn't it? - is giving his nephew, but it be nice if he got some of that as well. He's just frustrated. Frustrated like when Maureen broke up with him and all Mark had for company was his right hand frustrated. Frustrated like when he was sixteen and his dad promised to take him to the Toronto film festival and cancelled at the last minute frustrated. Frustrated like when he went to Brown to write scripts and everyone in his classes were pompous assholes who thought everything they did qualified as the highest art just because they had daddy's budget to back them frustrated.

 

Put all that together, and that is how Mark is feeling about the Roger situation right now. He's been able to choke it down, pretend it's not really happening for a while now. After all, Roger told Mimi about them (and the fact that they had kidnapped Cohen) and that was a huge step, right? You don't just tell your ex-girlfriend, one of the loves of your life, the girl who saved you from living alone, that you love your best friend and want to be with him unless you really, really mean it, right? Maybe it's cold and callus, but it had been a victory for Mark. Not over Mimi, but a victory nonetheless.

 

Roger is the over-romantic songwriter who believes in true love awakening some inner senses. Mark is the critical, bohemian filmmaker who believes love changes and transcends and, yeah, it's okay to be in love with a lesbian and then your best (male) friend because sexuality and love aren't fixed or solid. There is no such thing as love at first sight, and Mark gets that. The problem is he's also obsessive, like how he couldn't quite get Maureen out of his mind even after she left him. Like how he knows on some level that Roger loves him, but damnit he wants more than kissy faces and cuddling on the couch and he will obsess over every little thing Roger does until Mark gets what he wants.

 

And, really, when it comes down to it, Mark wants to have sex.

 

Instead he's standing in the middle of an amusement park on Coney Island, melting under the summer sun while he stands around a couple of dirty looking bathrooms, waiting on his niece and nephews to come out while Roger stands there - Mark looks to his side, watching Roger as he shakes, this huge grin splitting his face - while Roger stands there laughing at him. "What?"

 

That smile looks like it might actually begin to hurt. "I don't think it goes with your outfit," Roger says, and Mark raises an eyebrow. What does that mean? Doesn't match his - oh, hell. He looks down to the plastic purse he's holding against his chest, a splash of pink against his dark blue thrift store T-shirt.

 

Okay, he smiles just a little at that. "Well, I left my blue one at home," he explains, and that earns him a nice laugh from Roger. Mark is still miserable, running the facts over and over again in his head and trying to figure out what is so wrong with him that Roger won't do more than kiss him, but right then at least he feels like a good friend. "I don't know how you managed to get Adam to like you so much."

 

Still wearing this bright smile (that Mark put there... sort of, at least), Roger shrugs. "I don't know. The kid is easy to take care of."

 

That isn't exactly the answer Mark would expect. "I thought being in charge of them for the day would drive you insane." Well, at least it is driving him insane so he doesn't see how Roger can stand there and take it all without looking the least stressed out. It's unfair. Roger shouldn't be better with kids than Mark is, it just doesn't make sense. Not that Mark prides himself on being good with kids and he admits that, but Roger is an ex-junkie rock star. It feels wrong, for Adam to like him so much so quickly.

 

"They're just a couple of kids," Roger answers, and he really sounds like he means it. "I use to babysit all the time." Okay, that gets an eyebrow raise from Mark. Who the hell, other than Cindy, would trust Roger alone with a child? And, okay, maybe he's been doing a decent job with Adam. Still, it's all too counterintuitive with his bleached out hair and tattoos. A bit like seeing Joanne in a dress; Mark just can't fathom it no matter how hard he puts his imagination to work. "I mean, well, my mom worked in a nursery and I helped out," Rogers explains. "Fender Guitars aren't cheap, you know."

 

Mark smiles, just a bit, imagining a seventeen year old Roger running around holding a bunch of babies, complaining to his mom about buying that guitar he wants. "Sounds cute." Roger just shrugs again and, well, it seems like the perfect time so Mark leans in and brushes his lips up against Roger's.

 

It's just a small kiss, but the second they get close Roger jumps back. Fuck, it's even worse than usual. At least normally, Roger lets him kiss. Mark can't help it. He's confused as hell and his mind won't stop flashing all these details and ideas over and over again, like a stuck reel of film about why Roger won't let him get too close. "Not now," Roger mutters, moving back for Mark like he's going to jump forward and attack.

 

If Roger keeps backing away, he just might.

 

"Why the fuck not?" He should probably stick to better language, considering they're surrounded by kids and all, but hell they'll hear worse eventually. Let them see what a real relationship is like when your boyfriend is an indecisive and apparently chaste asshole. It will be good for them. He should try and teach this to Cindy's kids. Look, don't date your best friend no matter how much you love him. You're going to be sexless, confused, and miserable if you do and all his cute little smiles in the world aren't going to make up for that.

 

Right now Roger isn't even trying to smile. He isn't even looking at Mark. "We're in the middle of -"

 

"So?" Mark asks before Roger can even finish. He can't use that excuse. They've both done worse in worse places, and he knows Roger isn't shy. "It doesn't matter and you know it. Hell, you won't even let me kiss you back at home." This is like their last fight, and it feels like forever ago and at the same time still fresh on his mind. Mark doesn't open up much, but Roger manages to weasel his way in just enough so that when Mark finally can't take it anymore, he explodes. "It's like I have the fucking plague."

 

Even if Mark is on the verge of losing his temper, he is still clear headed enough that he can see the flash across Roger's face. A familiar expression that makes everything fall into place. Shit, why hadn't Mark thought of that before? He stumbles over his rant for a moment, unsure of what to say. He should have seen that before, but in all his obsessions with why he managed to fucking skip right over the most obvious reason in the world.

 

"You think that matters?" Mark asks once he gets some of his bearings back. At least enough to start speaking again, even if he is still feeling like an idiot. "Roger, I love you no matter -"

 

"What the fuck?" Mark jumps, and for a panicked second all he can think is that Matt is going to tell Cindy, which is the last thing Mark needs right now. When Matt storms up to them, though, Mark figured out damn quick what's wrong. Thank God teenagers are self-absorbed. "What the hell is this?"

 

Adam comes hurrying out after Matt, cowering behind Roger even as he points at Matt from around his leg. "Mommy says not to say those words." Matt glowers at Adam, and Mark can't blame the poor kid for hiding behind Roger.

 

"You can't expect me to wear this!" There isn't anything wrong with the baggy shirt, really. Maybe the rainbow and colorful writing that said 'Family Fun' weren't the best fashion statement for a teenage, but over all his years in New York Mark has been stuck in much worse. Fuck, the first winter all he had were sweaters his mom sent him. Mark isn't fashion conscious, but even he realized how fucking cheesy and horrible the poofy looking things were.

 

"It's not that bad," Roger says, lifting Adam into his arms again. Mark has a feeling he's just glad for the distraction and change of subject. "Hey, Mark, why don't you wait for Amanda while I take Matt and Adam for hotdogs?" Yeah, that's definitely Roger in escape mode. At least he isn't running of to Santa Fe. Just to the hotdog stand.

 

Mark sighs. What he wants to do is tie Roger down and not let him up until they've figure this out. He has a feeling Cindy would kill him if he tried anything like that with her kids around. "Yeah, sure," he mutters, hating that he's being so easy on Roger. Hating himself for overlooking what should have been damn obvious in the first place. Roger flashes him a smile and, with Adam in his arms and a very kill-me-now looking Matt dragging himself along after him, he heads off.

 

It's just as well, Mark thinks as he leans against the wall and waits on Amanda. He'd probably just get jealous of the fucking hotdog, anyway.

  
  



	7. Have A Kitten

Well, that certainly doesn't smell like food.

 

Wrinkling his nose at the sweet and metallic sort of scent that is coming from the can, he bats it and sends it rolling against the wall with an empty sounding ring. He crouches down and watches it roll along when a loud growl startles him into jumping backwards. He looks around wildly for whatever is coming at him when he realizes that it's his stomach making that noise. He stares down at his own tummy, which feels like it's crunching up inside of him. He needs food.

 

He walks back to the empty can, sniffing it again as if suddenly it will smell like something to eat. Back with his mom and sisters and brothers he'd been feed from a bag and always kept comfortable on big piles of furry floors. Only then, and he doesn't know why, he got thrown out and hasn't seen any of his family since. They just picked him up and left him here with this can that smells too sweet to eat. He gives a small whine, pushing at the empty can and licking at it. Ick. It tastes horrible, leaves him whimpering even more with this horrible taste in his mouth.

 

He bats at the can and it rolls back up to hit the wall. His stomach crunches up again. Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

 

Hitting the can had been his last idea, and now he has no idea what else to do. He knows he needs to eat but he can't find food. He's never had to find it on his own before. He doesn't know where to look. He remembers the bags from where Mommy was and he knows what food should smell like. Only he can't pick up on that scent anywhere. It feels like he's drowning in smells, but none of them are right.

 

He tried to get home. He really did, but no one ever let him in again and so he keeps on being lost. And hungry. He's so hungry. He just wants his mom back to feed him.

 

He tries staring at the can for a while longer, but it isn't doing anything else. He needs to eat. His stomach keeps aching and making scary noises. He wants something to eat more than anything and also to be back in that place with his mom and sisters and brothers and find out why they hate him enough to throw him out here without any food.

 

Back and forth humans walk past him, but none stop to look at him so none must be the human who picked him up and tossed him out. They're huge animals, too, way too big to approach, so he can't even try and get one to take him back home. They could all squish him under their big, heavy feet, and he doesn't want to be squished. They just keep walking past him, and he can hear their giant feet and loud voices booming out at him.

 

"No, it's one fucking drop! Half a fucking drop and you can't fucking sell the first time it looks like bad news, okay? We put too much in that to have you fucking dripping it like that because of one fucking bad day."

 

"We HAVE to go, Anna, we HAVE to. One of my favorite actresses from Children of the Revolution is in it and I KNOW you didn't like Wizard of Oz but this is TOTALLY different. We HAVE to."

 

"He did! I know, I told him, like, he has some really, really serious problems if he thinks I'm, like, doing anything like that, right? And I totally told him that, like, right to his face. Well, yeah, I left a message but he's, like, gonna have to check them, right?"

 

"Roger, Matt threw up back there. I don't think he wants to go out for pizza.... Where is Amanda?"

 

Caught listening to all the high pitched voices coming from the humans, he doesn't hear the footsteps getting closer until their pounding right next to him. He freezes up as the heavy feet tread over to him, probably coming to squish him and he doesn't know how to escape! The human bends down, light yellow fur falling beside its bare, pink skinned face as it gets closer to him. Maybe... Maybe it's come back to take him home to his mom, but it looks too small and his human didn't have bright yellow fur. They all kind of look the same to him, but he is still pretty sure that this is not the human that is going to take him back home.

 

Since it isn't going to take him back to his mom so that he can eat, it must want to hunt him. He gets low to the ground to pounce if he needs to, growling up at the large human. Only the sound he makes isn't even as scary as the one his stomach can make. Still, he valiantly tries to swat at its fur to make it leave him alone. He isn't going to be squished!

 

It takes its hand back and he's sure it's going to swat back at him so he tries to take off, but it's too big. It grabs him first and even though he's whining and thrashing about it manages to pick him up. "Let me go!" he meows as loud as he can, but even though he's only three weeks old he knows that humans don't understand him most of the time. They're too big to hear little cries.

 

"What a cute little kitty!" It says as it picks him up. He's still struggling around in its oversized paws to try and escape before it can squish him or move him even further away like the last human did. He is just trying to get used to this spot. They can't make him leave again. He'll be even more lost and still hungry.

 

"Let me go!" He hisses and wiggles and tries to scratch but he still hasn't managed to always get his paws to move exactly how he wants them too. It doesn't let go of him, just tightens its paws around him so that no matter how much he squirms it has him trapped.

 

"Ahhh," is what the human says back to him. "Don't worry little kitty, I won't hurt you."

 

He doesn't believe it and he doesn't stop fighting to get away from it. The last human took him away from his mommy. Why should he trust this one? "Please don't squish me," he meows as he tries to slip through her paws but he can't get loose. "I just wanted something to eat."

 

He's struggling and struggling but it just keeps holding onto him, bringing him against its body and fake fur to keep him still. Finally, with being hungry and small and all, he tires himself out and can't do anything more then mewl pathetically in its paws. "What a good kitty," it says as it starts to stroke his head. It does feel good, but he's too afraid to enjoy it properly. "You're so cute. What are you doing out here all alone, huh kitty?"

 

"Amanda!" Both the human and he jerk up at the voice, even louder than most of the human voices he is use to hearing pass him by. It's booming and followed by pounding footsteps that were probably shaking the ground. "Amanda, what are you doing back there?"

 

"Don't worry, okay kitty?" Before he can even meow the human is moving him. It drops him down into some blinding pink cage. Where is he now? Why is he being moved again? He starts to meow and scratch at the side of the pink that is all around him but nothing happens.

 

Then the cage starts to bounce, knocking him back down to his feet. "I'm fine," a voice says from outside, and even though it's a little muffled he knows it's that human that had picked him up and but him into the bouncing pink cage. He tries to get up, to whine and get her attention but he can't keep his balance in this weird cage.

 

"Amanda!" The loud voice again. He tries to meow for its attention, but no one pulls him out. "Thank God. There you are. Don't go wandering off like that!"

 

"I'm sorry." The pink walls start to shake even more and being tossed about, unable to stand, his stomach cramping, it leaves him feeling dizzy and makes everything go black.

 

*

 

"Let me!"

 

"No!"

 

"Let me!"

 

"No!"

 

"Why not?" This is one of those kid fights that doesn't look like it's going to resolve itself. With a sigh he reaches down and grabs Adam, picking him up and away from Amanda who is holding her purse to her chest protectively from her little brother.

 

"Leave her alone, Adam." Adam twists back in his arms, all confused eyes and a pout as he stares up at Roger. All day he's been acting like the cool older brother, and Roger knows Adam is expecting at least a little more than an exhausted, parental sounding order but Roger can't force anything else out of him right now. He shrugs and ruffles up Adam's hair before setting him down again.

 

Mark comes in behind him, trailed by Matt. Roger doesn't even look at him when he closes the door, and he's been friends with Mark long enough to hear the frustration in that slam, just puts a hand on Adam's head and pushes him towards Mark's old room. "Let's put you in bed." Adam gives a small, dissatisfied grunt, and Roger just pushes him harder. He doesn't want to have to deal with Adam's pouting right now. Honestly, what he really wants to do is curl up in bed and pout himself.

 

It's like I have the fucking plague.

 

Damnit. Roger closes his eyes, letting go of Adam as they get to the bed. Why the hell would Mark say something like that?

 

"Roger?" Roger opens his eyes, looking down at Adam who has crawled up onto the under stuffed, squeaky old bed. He is staring up at Roger with big, Mark-blue eyes. Like a little mirror of Mark, age four. Roger can't help but smile at him, kneeling down to Adam.

 

The kid yawns in his face, and Roger just laughs and ruffles his hair. He's so easy to like. "Yeah?" He wishes Mark were as easy to read as Adam. He wishes he didn't hold everything in until he explodes; even Roger sees how unhealthy that has to be. He wishes he'd never stabbed himself with that needle and gotten himself and April sick. Maybe then he could be with Mark like Mark wants instead of this forced distance between them. Maybe then smiling with Mark would be as easy as it is with Adam.

 

"When are mommy and daddy coming to get me?" Roger pulls back the covers for Adam, pulling a pillow and patting it until he lays back, his eyes still fixed on Roger and waiting.

 

"After you get some sleep," Roger says, pulling the covers around Adam and tucking him in. Adam looks doubtful, but he doesn't question Roger. That is nice, being trusted without question. Mark should just trust him like that without them having to talk about the reasons. Maybe that's not fair, but it's been a while since anything in their lives was fair.

 

Adam almost has his eyes closed when the door opens and he bolts back up again. Matt looks at the two of them with that same annoyed expression he's been wearing all day. Roger doesn't get why Adam likes him so much, even after listening to Adam talk about how cool his older brother was for most of their carousel ride. "Mark said I have to sleep in here."

 

Grunting, Roger grabs the side of the bed and pushes himself back to his feet. "There's plenty of room," he said, pointing to the other side of Adam. Matt couldn't look more upset if Roger had told him he'd be sleeping in a pit of snakes. Ruffling Adam's hair he lies him back down. "Night, Adam."

 

"Night, Rog," Adam trails off to a yawn as Matt strips down to his boxers, staying as far as he could from his brother when he crawls into the bed.

 

"You better not pee while you're asleep," Matt grumbles. Roger rolls his eyes and leaves the two alone, padding back out into the living room. Mark is bent over the couch, putting Amanda to bed. Roger tries to sneak by, and neither of them seem to notice him as he goes around Mark. He doesn't want to fight again tonight. Luckily, Mark seems to be absorbed in telling her a story. Roger knows this one, having heard Maureen and Mark joke about it before. The Three Little Pigs and the Wolfish Corporation Set On Blowing Down Their Housing Project.

 

If they ever had kids, there is no way he'd let Mark tell them that story. Kids shouldn't be political, they should be loved and have fun. Roger shakes his head as he crawls into bed, kicking off his clothes and collapsing under the covers. What a weird thought to have. Maybe not. There had been a time when he would have sworn that, yeah, one day he and April would have some sort of family.

 

That's before he ruined it for them, ruined their whole lives. Who would want to have a family with a diseased, broken rock star? April didn't even want to stay alive for him. Mimi didn't even think he was worth more than heroin.

 

It's been years and months and everything, and he has Mark now, but these things still hurt. It's not like just because he isn't with her that he's stopped feeling guilty about April or stopped loving Mimi. It's not like just because he won't touch him that he loves Mark any less. He's just trying to keep him safe. From Roger.

 

He tries to get to sleep before Mark comes in, curling up in the blankets and keeping his eyes locked shut even when he hears the door open and shut, Mark walking over to the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. He's set on ignoring Mark, even when the smaller boy wraps his arms around his waist, kissing at his shoulder and hands stroking at his stomach, making it very clear that he wants his attention.

 

Roger keeps himself still under Mark's hands. The distance is for Mark's own good and Mark knows this, he's just being pushy. He keeps being pushy, too, touching and kissing and trying to get some reaction to Roger. When he gets nothing he sighs, but doesn't let go no matter how much Roger wishes he would. It would make this easier if Mark would let go.

 

"I'm scared, too." Even though it's clear that Roger's sleeping trick isn't fooling anyone, he keeps his eyes shut. In the morning he'll wake up wrapped around Mark, they'll kiss and whine about getting up, Roger will play with Cohen and Mark will go out filming. They'll lie back down in bed at night, touching and kissing without going any further. It's been working for the last few weeks, why does Mark have to push? "And, yeah, this isn't easy, but that doesn't mean we should just give up."

 

It's not giving up, Roger thinks. It's just common sense. Mark is healthy, and he deserves to stay that way. Roger starts to try and wiggle away as Mark strokes along his stomach, chin propped up on Roger's shoulder. He doesn't get very far, though, and Mark is still refusing to let go. "Okay, fine. I'm fucking terrified, alright?" he grumbles, kissing Roger's ear, getting no response. "But I've never given up on you before, and I'm not gonna start just because you're being a stubborn asshole."

 

Okay, that deserves some kind of reaction. Sighing, Roger twists around in Mark's arms to face him even as he is still struggling just a bit to try and get away. "Would you stop that?" he says, brushing Mark off of him. Mark at least seems to get the point and stops kissing Roger, his arms still loosely slung around Roger so that he can't escape. "I'm not scared." He's terrified, and who wouldn't be in his position? In a relationship with a guy you've known for years and loved for at least the last three, carrying around this plague in your body and not wanting to hurt him. "I... I don't want to see you get... sick."

 

"Bullshit."

 

Roger frowns, growling just a bit and knocking Mark's arms off of him. "What do you mean, bullshit? You could get sick."

 

"I know I could," Mark says, and his eyes are narrowed. That look of total obsession that he gets about film, that look where he isn't about to back down. Right now Roger really hates that look. "I know you have HIV, I've seen what it could do and I. Still. Want. To. Be. With. You. Now stop punishing yourself for getting sick and stop punishing me because you're scared."

 

Roger can't even think of a reply to that, lying there completely still as he stares at Mark, who is almost glaring back at him. This is definitely one of those things he's been holding in until it boils over. "Look," he says, relaxing just a little. "You and me, we deserve to be loved just as much as anyone else, right?"

 

*

 

The only sounds in the big, empty room are covers being tossed about, the mattress squeaking, and Adam's occasional sniffle.

 

He rolls further down the bed, feeling one of his legs slipping off the side. Matt just takes the place where he'd just been, kicking and thrashing under the covers. Adam tried to wake him up already, and just got a bruised arm. He doesn't know what to do. Matt's scary when he sleeps, but Adam heard that if you wake people up from nightmares they could die. He doesn't want Matt to die.

 

The next time Matt's feet come swinging at him and Adam tries to get a away he falls to the hard floor. He whines softly, but Matt doesn't stop kicking even with Adam on the floor. Holding back a few sniffles he climbs up to his feet. He doesn't want to stay with Matt anymore. Sleeping with him hurts.

 

Pulling at his shirt, Adam drags himself out into the living room. He doesn't know where else to go. If daddy where here, he'd let Adam sleep in his lap, but he isn't so Adam might not get to sleep at all and then Mommy and Daddy might not come pick him up and he'll never sleep again!

 

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty...." Sniffing a bit, Adam rubs at his eyes as he pushes the bedroom door open. He forgets about not being able to sleep for a moment as he watches his sister try and push the couch back. "Come on, kitty... Come back...."

 

"Manda?" Amanda jumps back when Adam calls for her, like she's been caught trying to play with daddy's computer.

 

"What are you doing up?" she asks, crossing her hands over her chest and giving him a tough look. "You should be asleep. It's way past your bedtime."

 

That just makes Adam remember that he can't sleep and start to sniffle again. "I can't sleep. Matt is kicking me."

 

"Then tell him to stop!" Amanda says, rolling her eyes and sighing like Adam is stupid. She gets on her knees and starts looking under the chairs and couch without even waiting for Adam to leave.

 

"I can't," he says, walking towards his big sister. He sits on the ground next to her, curiously looking under the couch to try and see what she is looking at. "He's asleep. I don't want him to die."

 

"God!" Amanda says, dropping the flap off the couch and rolling her eyes again. "You're such a baby."

 

"Am not!" Adam protests, sticking his thumb in his mouth and biting at the tip. He feels ready to cry. He wants Mommy and Daddy and for someone to be nice to him and to sleep without Matt hitting him.

 

"Are to!" Amanda says, giving Adam a shove and he sobs, rubbing at his shoulder. "Don't cry," she says, wagging a finger at him and Adam can't help it. He doesn't even want to cry, he just can't stop. He rubs at his eyes, trying to get the tears to go back in. It makes Amanda look even more annoyed with him, which makes Adam sob some more. "Don't do that," she says, pulling his thumb out of his mouth. Sighing she stands up, grabbing Adam and pulling him along even when he starts to cry. "Here," she says, letting him go in front of the door. "Just go sleep with Uncle Mark and Roger."

 

Adam looks up at his sister, eyes all wet even when he is trying to keep them in. He just wants to be back at home in his room with Mommy and Daddy. Amanda sighs and opens the door and shoves him in before closing it behind him.

 

"Jesus..." Adam stumbles into the room as Amanda pushes him, staring up at the bed as Roger jumps off of Uncle Mark's lap. "What the hell are - ouch! Roger!"

 

"Hey..." Roger crawls down to Adam, ruffling his hair. "What's up?"

 

Taking his thumb out of his mouth, Adam leans into Roger's hand. At least he's kind of like a daddy. "I can't sleep."

 

"Is it too dark?" Uncle Mark asks, and he looks like Amanda. Not happy that Adam is here. "Do you need a night light?"

 

"I'm four," Adam says, pouting and climbing up on the bed, closer to Roger who pulls him into his lap just like Daddy would. "I'm not afraid of the dark. Matt says only baby's are afraid of the dark." Adam isn't afraid of the dark, but he does have a night-light back at home just in case something crawls under his bed, he'll be able to see it and yell for help. He isn't a baby, though. Lots of people do that.

 

"Of course..." Uncle Mark sounds like Amanda, too, and it makes Adam sniffle. He's going to kick him out and make him sleep on the floor or outside where Mommy and Daddy won't be able to find him just because Adam couldn't sleep with Matt kicking him. "Well, do you -"

 

"Come here." Adam turn back to look at Roger, who smiles at him as he lies him down, pulling the covers up around him. "How about you sleep with Mark and me?" Adam smiles at Roger, nodding and curling up against him. Roger is so cool, he knows exactly what Adam wants and he didn't even have to say anything, and he's going to keep Uncle Mark from kicking him out.

 

"Roger...."

 

"Mark." Adam laughs a bit against Roger's chest, which makes him feel better. They sound a lot like his parents and it's funny because that would make Roger his mommy.

 

With a small growl, Uncle Mark lies down with them, putting a hand over Adam so that he's wrapped between them like he is when he has to sleep with his mommy and daddy back home. "You better be glad I fu- I love you." It's nice, and he closes his eyes and can fall asleep without having to worry about people under his bed or being kicked to death.

 

*

 

"It's so great that you're so good with kids."

 

After last night Mark is pretty sure the worst thing in the world is having his nephew pushed between him and Roger when they were that close to getting somewhere physically. That was, after all, wrong and disgusting and really, really frustrating and Mark figured, hey, it doesn't get much worse than that.

 

Only he was wrong.

 

The worst thing is standing here listening to his sister flirt with his boyfriend while she picks up her kids. Yeah, that is definitely one of the worst things ever, and Mark can't even say all that much. Not without giving himself away to her and having her run back to Mom with the news (better that it filters itself out some from his friend to friend's parents to mom - or at least that gives him more time). Definitely not without scarring the children.

 

"Yeah, well..." Maybe the worst thing is how Roger smiles and soaks the praise up. That is also on the list, anyway. "They're good kids, easy to look out for."

 

"Your girlfriend," Cindy says, blushing a bit like Roger has complemented her figure and not her parenting skills. "Must be a very lucky girl." It takes a lot of self-restraint not to yell, "Boyfriend!" in his sister's face right then. Roger just keeps smiling, although it's definitely getting a bit wicked. Now might be a good time to get his sister out of her before something bad happens.

 

"It's nice seeing you again, Cindy," Mark says as he grabs the door, not sure how much clearer he can make his point. "You should call next time."

 

Roger snorts, barely hiding his smile behind his hand. Cindy doesn't seem to notice, anyway, since she's so busy glaring at Mark and all. "Amanda!" She calls, and hey, at least she got the point. Amanda comes out from Roger's bedroom. She's been looking under furniture all day calling for Cohen.

 

Even now she's dragging herself out of the room, pouting as she glances behind her and around her, trying to sneak a peak under the couch and calling, "Here, kitty, kitty." Looking back at her mom, she wears a pout that reminds Mark of Maureen. Or maybe Roger. "But..."

 

"Come on, Amanda, it's time to go," Cindy says, grabbing her daughter's hand. She keeps whining, even as her mom drags her out the door. "Thanks for looking after them, Roger," Cindy says, ignoring Amanda's complaining and grabbing Adam from Roger's arms. "It was nice to have an evening out with Dan without having to worry about the kids."

 

"And I did nothing?" He isn't really all that offended; he just wishes his sister would stop looking at Roger like she's imagining him naked. Mark already imagines that enough for both of them.

 

Cindy rolls her eyes a little, just like Mom used to. "Love you, Mark," she says, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as she turns and heads to the waiting cab to take her and the kids back to suburban paradise.

 

"Love you Cindy," Mark says, even as he is shutting the door behind the group. "Matt, Amanda, Adam!"

 

Once the door is securely shut, Roger snorts in laughter, wrapping his arms around Mark and leaning into him. "You really do love them," he says with a wide smile as he leans in for a kiss.

 

Mark laughs against Roger's lips, playfully nipping at him as roger pulls back. "They're my family," he points out, and yeah it's sort of cliché but Mark will always love his family. Even when they're pint sized and annoying. "Course I love them."

 

"You know," Roger says as he ruffles up Mark's hair, even though he knows it annoys him. Probably because he knows that, and Mark has to growl all playfully and knock his hand away. "I always wanted kids like that..."

 

That is a weird thing to hear coming from Roger. Enough to throw Mark off balance for a few beats. Ignoring whatever that is supposed to mean, Mark makes a face and swats at Roger's shoulder. "Next time you flirt with my sister, I disown you as a friend."

 

Roger laughs at him again, letting Mark wiggle out of his arms. "I wasn't flirting," he says, following after Mark as he heads back into the bedroom. Rolling his eyes and, fuck, isn't he just like the rest of his family, he twists his head back and gives Roger a look. He doesn't believe him. He knows the old Roger would flirt with anything. He's seen it before. Roger takes another swat at him, a little lower this time. "You think that was flirting..."

 

With a very undignified squeak, Mark stumbles forward. "Roger!" Roger is laughing at him, watching Mark rather ungracefully trip over his jacket, kicking it up off the floor. "Roger!" he says again as he turns back around, hand rubbing his ass where Roger had hit him. He really is about to tackle Roger and teach him a lesson, really he is, when he notices the small, surprised bunch that had been huddled under Roger's jacket.

 

Cohen stares up at him with huge blue eyes and, yeah, that isn't strange. What is out of place is the little bundle of fur next to him, green eyes looking up at Mark with that same wide-eyed cat expression. Before he can get away Mark reaches down and scopes up the little thing, even smaller than Cohen when they first got him. "What's this?"

 

Roger stops laughing at him, walking up to Mark and examining the small kitten in his hands. "It's a cat."

 

"Yeah," Mark says, pushing his glasses up his nose as if that will make this picture clearer. "What's it doing here?"

 

Roger starts to stroke at the little thing's dark fur and the kitten jumps; Mark can feel its heart racing against his hand, before settling down under Roger's hand. "Maybe..." He smiles, scratching behind the thing's ear, getting it to purr. "Maybe he's Cohen's date." He looks down at the white cat, who is meowing and trying to climb up Roger's leg. "You getting lucky tonight, boy?"

 

"Considering I doubt either of them are spayed, you better hope it's a guy," Mark says, holding the kitten against his chest. It's got really bright green eyes that are staring up at him like he's a titan. It's probably the first time Mark has ever felt big. "I wonder where it came from...."

 

Roger sets an arm around Mark's shoulders, leaning into him and staring at the kitten along with Mark. "Are we keeping it?"

 

"Well... We can't just throw it out, can we?" Maybe Mark likes the cat just a little, but it's so small and defenseless looking, like he needs someone to take care of him. Mark can't just toss him away when he needs someone like that. "Besides," he says, smiling at Roger. "Now we have a set. A little Davis."

 

Roger's eyebrows go up, his lips quirk in amusement, and Mark can tell that he's being made fun of. It doesn't make him want to take it back, though. The thing is dark with green eyes, and why shouldn't he be allowed to call him Davis? It's a better name than Cohen. "You want a set?" Roger teases, prodding Mark gently in the side making him and the kitten jump just a bit. "Wouldn't it have to be something like Davis Clockwork Socrates Gato Scruffy Mcfilmster?"

 

Mark laughs, a sound that vibrates into the cat and makes its heart beat wildly again. To try and spare the poor thing a heart attack, Mark bends over and sets it down. It goes running off, quickly followed by Cohen. "Something like that."

 

He isn't even done standing back up yet when Roger has him in his arms, kissing Mark. Not the way they have before, slow and cautious and knowing it wouldn't go much further. A hard kiss. A kiss that leaves him flushed and breathless and all his thought scrambled. The sort of kiss that Mark hasn't had in a very long time, and when Roger does pull back, Mark is swaying in his arms from forgetting exactly how it was he is supposed to breath.

 

It makes him feel at least a little better that Roger looks just as shocked and out of it. He licks at his lips, hot breath coming in short gasps against Mark's skin. "I..."

 

Mark doesn't want to give Roger time to think, to change his mind, to feel guilty about being in love and freak them both out again. He grabs his hand, squeezing tight as he pulls Roger back towards the bed. "Come on. I want to try and get you pregnant."


End file.
